A World Behind the Murder
by Clara Verity
Summary: After her kidnapping, a young girl strives to outsmart the dangerous man responsible. Rated T for mature and dark themes, as well as some violence and/or horror and/or romantic scenes. I greatly appreciate any feedback!
1. The Greyhound

The Greyhound

My story began when I refused to take the plane.

It wasn't necessarily because I was afraid of heights—I mean, maybe, possibly, that's part of the reason, but it's definitely not the whole. Both my parents were running short on cash, and I knew taking the bus to Minneapolis from Indianapolis would be the best way to save money.

I didn't particularly like Greyhound—I would have preferred to take Amtrak, for personal reasons—but my mom bought me the tickets before I could argue. She didn't have a preference; she simply wanted to buy the tickets as quickly as possible in the case that all the buses going to Minneapolis the next day would somehow be sold out before we had a chance to look through all the options. That was just type of woman she was.

I had taken the bus up to Chicago a few times, so I knew the standards pretty well, as did my mom. My bus was scheduled to depart from the station in Indy around 5:15 the next evening, and it being December meant I'd be leaving and traveling during the night. I wasn't very much happy about that, but I was old enough at sixteen to be able to take care of myself. And my father was to pick me up in Minneapolis as soon as the bus arrived around 6:00 the next morning, so I trusted him to be there.

The next day, I arrived home from school as usual, and confirmed to my mom that I turned the school absence forms in, as I was required whenever I left for long periods of time. She made me some food to bring on the bus ride, and then we drove up to Indianapolis in silence. It was only after I had gotten on the bus that she started crying. A few minutes later, I saw her drive off, still weeping as she always did when I did something adult-like by myself. Despite my age, she always liked to treat me as a child, no matter how many times I tried to prove to her differently.

A few moments after she left, I began to relax, as I looked around the rest of the bus. It was then that I noticed something peculiar.

There was no one else on the bus. It was only me, and the driver. I checked my watch to see if I'd arrived early, but there was no mistake that I had gotten on exactly at the boarding time. The seat I had taken in the near-back overlooked the entirety of the bus, and the silence felt strange. I shivered, despite the heat blasting from the vents below my feet. Outside, the sun was beginning to set. I bit my lip, an old habit I'd picked up a few years before. I didn't really want to admit that I was nervous, but I would be lying if I said I wasn't.

Five minutes passed, and still, no one showed. I contemplated calling my mom to call everything off—if she knew no one was riding with me, she might have been less likely to let me go in the first place. But I decided to stand my ground anyway. I wasn't a coward. I could take care of myself, I thought.

Suddenly, I noticed someone board. My attention only turned towards the person after I heard the bus driver—a jolly-looking middle-aged man, with a beard and kind eyes—greet them.

I looked up and found myself staring at a strange, shadowed figure, walking down the center isle of the bus. And I say shadowed, because he literally looked like a shadow. He wore all black—black jacket, black jeans, black shoes. His face was covered by an oversized hood, and the only pieces of hair I could see were almost as black as his outfit, and sticking out from underneath. The man said nothing in response to the driver before he walked slowly towards the back, and then, I noticed something else strange about him.

He carried no luggage. None, whatsoever, and on a trip across the Midwest, for that matter. It would be one thing if the bus was only going halfway up the state, but it wasn't.

How could someone carry nothing on such a trip? Unless he had his things waiting for him at the final stop? What was he going to do for food, then? Eat at the transfer and other stops? What was he going to do to keep himself entertained? Twiddle his thumbs?

I didn't understand why I was wondering about this so much. Maybe it was because the day had been long so far and I was growing tired with the setting of the sun, despite the fact it was still so early. I was the type of person who grew crazy without sleep, and paranoia, in any form, was one of my worst symptoms.

I sighed as the man turned his head towards me, sharply, not stopping as he continued forward. He went back one seat behind me and sat down. Why, in this entire open large bus, he had to choose one of the seats closest to me, I didn't understand. But this man was odd, and it only made sense that his mannerisms would be odd as well.

I shifted in my seat uncomfortably. Behind me, the man was completely silent. I couldn't even hear him breathe. Once again, I considered calling my mom, but the plan was stopped short when the driver started up the bus.

"Our first stop will be Lafayette," the driver spoke happily through the intercom, as the bus began to pull out of the station. I turned, wide-eyed, to face the window, and looked out and watched as we quickly left Indy behind.

There was no going back now.


	2. The Kiss

The Kiss

I have no idea how I managed to get myself into such a situation. For as long as I've been riding buses, I never had the issue of being trapped on a bus with a creepy man clad in solely black.

I always thought of the bus schedules being run like classes at school. If not enough people signed up for a specific class, it was canceled, and those who did sign up were transferred to something different, or at least, similar. This made more sense to me than a large traveling bus carrying only two people. The driver didn't seem to think it was strange, though. I could hear him in the front, passing by the time—whistling.

As far as I could tell, the man sitting behind me didn't move an inch for at least an hour. At 6:30, I checked my watch, and took out the dinner my mom had packed for me—a lonely, plain sandwich, and a chocolate bar. Not the best dinner, but I knew my dad was sure to take me out for breakfast after I arrived—if I was awake enough to go, that is.

I finished the sandwich quickly, feeling awkward about sitting right in front of the strange man. I had no way of knowing if he was looking at me or not, if he was watching me. I could have sworn that I felt his eyes burn a hole in the back of my seat, but, once again, I was tired, and growing swiftly more paranoid.

About twenty minutes after I ate, we stopped in Lafayette. I took the chance to call my mom, and to tell her that everything was fine. I lied and told her it was a full bus, just to help her feel better, and I thanked her for the food. Almost seconds after I had ended the conversation, the bus started up again. I was in the middle of sliding my phone back into my black backpack when I heard a voice whisper in my ear:

"Why did you lie?"

I froze, my hand still inside my backpack. I turned my head, slowly, to see the man staring at me with his hood down; his big, black eyes flashed with something strange, another color, another piece of him. I opened my mouth to respond but no words came out. My body shook. I was so, deathly, afraid of this man… And I barely even knew him.

Up front, the driver continued to whistle, oblivious. Finally, I managed to choke something out.

"I-I-I didn't want my mom t-to worry." I didn't normally stutter, but this man had that effect on me. I saw his pale lips upturn in a smile.

"I'm guessing you're young, then? A minor?"

This question was what sent a warning signal flaring in my head. However, I couldn't get myself to do anything about it. I couldn't get myself to tell him to go away, or to stand and complain to the driver, or to call my mom or 911 or scream or anything. I just sat there as frozen as a block of ice.

The man laughed. "I'm sorry. Forgive me. I was only wondering because of my sister. She has to ride the bus with me every time she wants to go somewhere far away from home because of her age, and so I was wondering if you are actually older than you look, or if the Greyhound system is simply lenient when it comes to age ."

His explanation made sense, but still, it felt weird. I was sixteen, yes, and technically a minor, but I was never mistaken for being younger than I really was. Most people believed me to be older, as a matter of fact, to the point where I was even offered wine in restaurants at times. But if what he was saying was true… Cautiously, I answered him. "I… I'm sixteen. I can ride on my own. But I used to ride on my own when I was fifteen, too, so I guess the bus line doesn't really care too much." It took all my energy to keep my voice steady.

The man nodded, and smiled again, before lying back against his seat. I faced forward and took a deep breath, telling myself to relax. There was nothing he could do during this ride that could hurt me, even with absolutely no one else around. A minute or so passed, and I thought he was going to let the conversation end at that. Unfortunately, I was wrong.

"Are you going to Minneapolis too?" He had unzipped his jacket in the heat of the bus, revealing a long-sleeved black shirt. His rested his arms above the seat next to mine and stared down at me again with those large, cold eyes. Everything about him—the way he talked, the way he moved, the way he stared at me, it just seemed all wrong. I shrunk down in my jacket, still feeling frozen in more ways than one.

"Ah… Ah, yes…" I began to chew my lip rapidly. I saw his eyes turn to my lips before going back to my gaze. I took a deep breath and tried to let the stress and awkwardness of the situation go.

"Hmm, I see." He mimicked my habit with the lip biting, less in a mocking way and more in a searching way. "What's your name?"

Once again, there was that alarm. I knew not to give my name out to strangers. I knew not to even talk to strangers, too, but I had no idea how else to respond to this man. He watched my eyes flicker up to the bus driver, an amused look on his face, as if he knew he was making me uncomfortable and he found it funny.

"I… I'm sorry, but I don't feel like telling you." I said, trying to keep myself calm. The man smiled—no, smirked. I was starting to notice now that all of his smiles were more like sly smirks.

"Ryuzaki. Charmed." I gasped as he picked up my hand and kissed it, with ice cold lips. I quickly drew my hand away, blushing. I decided then that the next time he spoke to me I would talk with the driver, no matter how awkward it made me feel. But there was no need—after the kiss, the man sat back in his chair and closed his eyes, falling asleep in the dim light of the bus before even a minute had passed.

I believed then in that moment that I would never get to sleep that night. When my arrival finally would come the next morning, I'd be too tired to go out to breakfast, and I would simply go back to my father's bachelor condo and fall asleep, relieved to away from the man—Ryuzaki, as he called himself. Such a strange name…

But anyway, I was wrong. I fell asleep within the next fifteen minutes. Perhaps incidents such as my meeting with Ryuzaki could tire out a person more than you'd ever expect.

In my short sleep, I remember dreaming abeing being stuck in a castle tower, yards and yards above the slumbering forests of a forbidden kingdom at night. Suddenly, in the distance, I saw man riding a horse. He stopped and dismounted, before climbing up the ivy of my tower in that strange, murky reality that dreams held. The man reached my window, and I helped him in, grinning at my knight. I couldn't see his face, though, under his hood… And when I reached up to pull it down, I froze, wordless, as it was not the face of a dear night, but the face of Ryuzaki staring back at me.

"Charmed," he said, smiling his odd smirk, before leaning in for a kiss. Horrified, I screamed, and darkness quickly came before his lips could touch my own.

"Excuse me, miss?"

It was the bus driver. I was awake from the dream, and he was speaking to me through the intercom. When I looked out the window, I saw that we were only a few miles away from the station in Chicago—maybe about twenty minutes, tops, before we arrived. At the time, I barely even remembered the dream; it wouldn't be until later that the events would come back to me.

"Miss? We are five miles away from the transfer point, and I suggest you gather your things together."

I nodded, absent-mindedly. Behind me, Ryuzaki was awake again, and staring at me once more. I tried to shrug off his gaze as I made sure I left nothing sitting around the seats. I checked my watch once more and saw that I would have exactly forty minutes before the next bus would leave from the station. Hopefully, the certain next bus would have more people on it. With about ten minutes left until we reached the stop, I heard Ryuzaki speak up again.

"I'm not entirely sure if I'm going to go to Minneapolis."

I took a deep breath and thought about my promise to myself before, about talking to the driver the next time I was bothered. But we were almost to the station—I didn't think it would be worth it now. So I decided to try ignoring him.

It didn't work. "I might just stay in Chicago."

I turned my face slightly towards him, refusing to look at him straight. "Alright."

"I think I might visit my home here. I don't live there anymore, but… it might be interesting to look into once more."

Once again, I didn't allow myself to look into his eyes as I responded. "Really?"

He nodded. I tried to think up something to say that would end that conversation. "Well, maybe then you can take your sister with you if you decide to go to Minneapolis after all."

"Sister?" To my surprise, he chuckled. I turned at the laugh face, surprised at its sound. It didn't sound like any normal laugh I'd ever heard; it sounded… supernatural, almost. Just plain odd, like this man in general. My eyes accidentally met with his as I turned. They seemed brighter, almost, but not in the way that normal eyes grew bright. His smile showed his amusement—this smile didn't seem like his usual smirk. It was wide, and crazy, and creepy, and held the same almost animalistic brightness as his eyes. He tilted his head in what could almost pass as genuine confusion.

"Sister? I'm sorry. I don't have a sister."


	3. The Kidnapping

The Kidnapping

I guess you can say that I was more than excited to get myself off that bus. Ryuzaki was odd and frightening, being alone on the bus was horrid, and I just wanted the night to be over with.

It was around 8:45 when the bus finally pulled into the station. Ryuzaki waited behind me as I took my suitcase done from the overhead bin, although I thought nothing of it. I then slung my bag over my shoulders and started down the aisle, Ryuzaki as close as he could be.

Outside the windows, I could see the station, full of people. I sighed in relief. I really was going to be fine. I'd get on a busy bus, and there was even a chance that Ryuzaki wasn't going to Minneapolis at all. Smiling, I pushed my suitcase in front of me, and walked down the steps of the bus.

That was when things started to go wrong.

Maybe, if I hadn't been so clumsy, I may have been able to save myself. Nothing would have ever happened. But when I reached the bottom step, I was not so lucky, and before I knew it, I lost control of my bag as it smashed into the snow.

Angry with myself, I got out of the way of the door to the bus so Ryuzaki could pass, threw my backpack on the ground, and knelt down to pick up the suitcase and some of the things that had fallen out of the front pocket. A dark form bent down, too, and three guesses as to who it was.

"Thanks," I muttered, as he handed me a novel I had brought for the trip. I was just about to stand to leave when I suddenly felt his arm around me, dragging his black coat to cover my shoulders.

"Are you cold? Here." I was about to protest, shrug it off and walk away, when suddenly I felt something press into my back.

"W-w-what—" I was completely in shock. Nothing seemed to register in my head as the gun pushed deeper against me.

"Shh, don't be shy. Go on, take it." I nodded numbly and held on to the collar of the jacket, so it stayed propped up and in place, hiding the gun. He kept it forced against me; to anyone else around us, it would have looked very casual, as if he merely had his hand on my back. Like we were lovers, or something of the sort. I stood up shakily.

"Very good." I turned and saw his face, his smile, before he instructed me to put the jacket on entirely. Afraid of what would happen if I didn't, I followed his command, and zipped it up, too, just in case that's what he meant by entirely.

He nodded, still smiling, and pointed at the handle of the suitcase for me to grab. I did as I was told. Then, he grabbed my backpack and slung it over one shoulder. He led me down a dark alleyway, close by the station, and soon enough, we were gone before anyone even noticed us in the first place.

I was shaking so badly, it was a miracle I could even keep walking. I thought about screaming and risking getting shot, but the thought of dying was so horrid, and I didn't know if I could bring myself to do it. My breathing grew deep and shallow, to the point that my throat began to grow soar. My eyes strained against the darkness as I stumbled along. Once we reached the middle of the alleyway, he stopped me by reaching out his free arm and pulling on my shoulder. The entire time, the gun never left my back. I saw myself as doomed.

I couldn't see anything. The buildings we were in-between were so tall, and the rest of the city seemed so far away. It felt like we had been walking for hours; yet, I knew it could have only been minutes.

I heard the rustling of what sounded like a keychain. I turned my head and strained my eyes, but I could barely make out shapes, and perhaps that was why this terrible man, this Ryuzaki, if that really was his name—perhaps that was why he picked the alley. Or, maybe, this was where he lived. That wouldn't have surprised me too much.

I heard a key in a lock, the click of a door being opened, and soon, I was rushed into the building. I know there's some rule, something about trying to remember your surroundings if you are ever taken somewhere in a dangerous situation, but my eyes refused to work, and it was like I saw nothing, even when Ryuzaki did switch the lights on. Instead, I blinked at the bright fluorescent lighting, wavered for a moment, as it blinded me. Then, my already impaired vision began to blur, and suddenly, I hit the ground.

When I awoke, it was still night time. Or, maybe, I had slept through the entire day after fainting. Either was possible, and frankly, in my situation, it didn't really make a difference. And I remembered exactly my situation after awaking. But I wished I didn't. A moment of peace and confusion seemed a lot better than being thrust straight back into the horror story I'd somehow been sucked into.

The room I lay in was gray. Everything was gray—the walls, the ceiling, the floor, the window curtains. I looked down and even the bed I was lying on was gray, from the sheets to the pillows. I tested my arms and legs, making sure they still worked. Then I sat up to test to see if I was restrained in any way—I wasn't. As a matter of fact, I had been given pretty good accommodations. Despite the ugly color, the bed was comfy, and the sheets were warm. But none of that mattered, obviously.

Quickly, I jumped to a standing position, moaning from the head rush it gave me. I checked my body, still intact, with all its clothing. My watch was gone, however; and my shoes—plain flats I wore everywhere, even in the dead of winter—had been removed. My suitcase and backpack were nowhere to be seen. I walked across the creaky gray floorboards and tested the doorknob. It was locked, but I had been expecting that.

The windows were my next stop. There were two, on opposite sides of the room. The bed sat facing the door, and the only other piece of furniture was a dusty old dresser next to one of the windows, underneath a cracked mirror. I peered out of the window nearest the dresser and sighed, as my only view was of an alleyway far below, and a brick wall directly across. I felt lucky, though, because at least some light managed to filter in from a pair of creaky lanterns hanging on a stand across the way. I tried opening the window, to see if maybe there was any way to escape by that, but I could only get it budged open a few inches, and then it wouldn't close. I shivered as the cold winter air drifted into my room, but I had no way to undo it now.

Outside, I could hear a siren wailing on the streets as it passed. I sighed and knelt down on my knees, wondering how long it would take for the police to find me here. Or, how long I would be able to last before being killed. The thought made me begin to shake. And I had been holding up so well.

My composure wasn't too hard to keep, though. The shock had passed, and now, I was just trying to stay calm. I knew, however, that the minute I set my eyes on Ryuzaki again, I'd be back to how I was earlier.

My god, I wished I'd listened to myself… How I wished I had called my mother, while I had the chance… Now I was stuck in a dark, damp building with the creepiest man I'd ever met, and with barely any chance at all of escaping. But still. Even if I wasn't strong, I had to try to be strong, or at the very least pretend. If there was a chance, any chance, of escaping… I promised myself to take it, no matter what.

Slowly, I began to rest my head against the dirty frame of the window, repeating that new mantra under my breath. "I will take that chance, no matter what. I will take that chance, no matter what."

I didn't hear or see him come until he was right in front of me.

I screamed. I couldn't help it. In my mind, I smashed all I had said about being strong. There was no pretending with him around… But… I had to try…

Ryuzaki looked slightly different now. He still had that air of wildness, of insanity… But he looked less contained, more free. As if before he was simply the wild dog pretending to be a domestic animal. And now, that he was free in his own territory, there was no holding back.

He knelt down quickly and placed a hand over my mouth, his eyes flashing. In the dark, now, I could see that flash of color, once more, only more prominent. A bloody red that seemed to dance along the black of his irises. When he retracted his hand, I closed my mouth, silently searching over his figure for any sign of the gun he had earlier. I barely had time before I heard him say, in a voice with less of the fake kindness from earlier, "Stand."

I did as I was told, and he stood, too. We stared at each other, locked in that invisible embrace of gazes; me searching his eyes, and him searching mine. He took hold of my shoulders and turned me towards the window.

"What do you see?" He asked. I blinked and tried to look past the dust and cracks. I didn't know necessarily what he meant. I saw myself, covered in dirt, and slightly bruised from the fall I had taken earlier. I saw my dirty blond hair now ratted and tangled; my mom would have called it a bird's nest. I saw my green eyes staring back at me, rimmed in red. Had I been crying, in my sleep, maybe? Or was I crying earlier while he pushed me along the alleyway and I just didn't remember?

I saw my clothing—my jacket had been removed and now the only thing I wore was my high school t-shirt and a pair of jeans. And I saw Ryuzaki, behind me, his black hair a mess and dark circles surrounding his eyes. I tried not to stare at him for too long; it only made my heart beat fast with horror. But I furrowed my brow, trying to understand why he wanted me to look in the mirror…

_Oh._ My breath caught in my throat as I noticed what he was referring to.

"I… I see you pointing a gun at my head."

So he did have the gun after all. I shut my eyes tightly, hoping to be back on the bus again, waking up from a bad dream, but when I opened them once more, I was still there. And Ryuzaki was smiling back at me through the reflection.

"Exactly. Now lie down on the bed."

"…Wha… What?" It had crossed my mind that this might be what he wanted from me. It had crossed my mind, even when we were back on the bus! But now, in the position, I was so afraid I couldn't even move.

"I said, now lie down on the bed."

He pressed the gun harder against my head, more threateningly, if that was even possible. I moved quickly.

He laughed, still pointing the gun at me, but not following me. It was that strange laugh again, the one that made me want to shiver. I stared up at his lean and tall form as he stared down at me, and for some reason, the most inappropriate-for-the-situation thought snuck its way into my head.

I couldn't help but think that this man was actually handsome. Exceptionally handsome. Everything about him, from his hair to his form, would have been attractive to me, had it not been for the look in his eyes and the smile on his lips. I couldn't tell how old he was—but he didn't seem any older than twenty-one, or twenty-two—or, any younger than eighteen or nineteen. These thoughts came and went quicker than it took him to draw closer to me, still laughing, still smiling, until he was only a few inches away. I shrank back as much as I could, given I was lying down.

It's interesting, the feelings humans have for each other. The fact that I could find this man attractive yet entirely repulsive at the same time was a strange contradiction.

"What am I doing now?" He asked, his voice dropped down to a less-commanding whisper. I tried to lick my lips, but my mouth was completely dry.

"You're… you're still pointing a gun at my head."

"Threatening you, then?"

I nodded.

"I'm going to ask you another few questions, my dear, and please try to answer then honestly. I'll be able to tell if your answers aren't true."

There was a pause as he studied me. I tried not to move.

"Now, my dear. Do you think you're faster than me?"

_Huh?_ I wasn't quite expecting that question from him, but then again, he was hardly a predictable man. I shook my head.

"No." And it was true. Through his shirt and jeans, I couldn't tell if he was muscular or not, but I was the slowest runner on the track team last year, so I assumed that he was probably faster than me even if he didn't have any muscle.

"Do you think you're stronger than me?"

Again, I assumed no, because I hadn't exercised in months, and never even attempted to be strong, as to tell the truth I didn't enjoy working out that much.

"And do you think you're smarter than me?"

I paused on that one. _Did_ I think I could outsmart him? This was where I began to question it. Just from the way this man held himself, from his actions, and from even just his glance, I could tell he was intelligent. A genius, even. He managed to outsmart me already so far, by managing to kidnap me in even such a crowded place as that bus station. However, I hadn't been prepared, or even entirely expecting something of the sort to happen. I was considered one of the best in my class back home. I was on the honor roll, and on my way to becoming valedictorian. Books smarts and street smarts are completely different things, though, and this certainly seemed more like a street smarts situation. Either way, even if I could outsmart someone awful like this man, it wouldn't exactly do any good for me to say so. I shook my head.

"No," Came my quiet reply.

He grinned. "Had to think about that one, huh?" He looked as if he was about to kill me then, but quickly thought better of it. Instead, he pulled the gun away from me and began to study it.

"So. I see we have an understanding. You cannot run from me, for you are not as fast as me. You cannot fight me, for you are not as strong as me. And you cannot trick me, for you are not as smart as me."

I widened my eyes in surprise and horror, when he lifted the gun back up and pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened. No bullet was shot. His eyes seemed to stroke over the gun in curiosity, before he turned to laugh at my fear-filled face.

"And so, I don't need a gun to threaten you, my dear." He tossed the useless thing on the ground. "The threat does not lie in the weapon. But." He slid his hand into his jeans pocket and pulled out a switchblade, his eyes shining lustfully as he watched it open up. "Just in case you need a little reinforcement."

Ryuzaki leaned forward and flicked me with the knife; not deep or hard enough to cause me too much pain, but just enough to make my skin bleed. I felt something wet on my cheeks and I realized I was crying.

He left the room then without another word. I turned to my side and finally let my feelings and fears spill out. What felt like hours later, I was still crying, and it was light outside, but the tears still kept coming. It felt like they would never stop.


	4. The Days that Passed

The Days That Passed

Once I finished crying, the sun outside told me it was high noon, and I was starving. It was the first time since I'd awoken that I felt hungry. I guess physical stress tromps emotional stress, eventually, even in a situation such as the one I was currently stuck in. My stomach grumbled, but I knew there wasn't anything I could do, except wait and hope.

I was beginning to drift off, in daydreams of chocolate chip cookies and dancing vanilla shakes, when a knock on the door pulled me back into the real world.

I sat up, quickly, and waited. A knock. Why would Ryuzaki need to knock? He hardly needed my permission to enter, and so far, the door hadn't budged. I stood up, slowly, curiously, before speaking into the silence.

"Hello?"

No answer. I walked forward and touched the door quietly. I pressed my ear up against the wood to see if I could hear anything, but no sound came from the other side. I felt like it would be a waste to try the handle, but I did anyway, and jumped back in surprise when I realized it was unlocked.

Carefully, I opened the squeaky door to reveal a small serving tray of food sitting on a mat right below me. I was surprised at the coincidence, but my hunger dulled my previous caution. I was just about to grab the plate when something else sunk in.

The door. It was open. Totally, completely, open. This might be the chance I was looking for! A chance to escape!

In excitement, I drew my eyes up to peer into the blackness beyond. I searched the side of the wall next to the door and found a switch. My dreams of escaping were crushed when I saw what lay in front of me.

It was a hallway, yes, but it didn't lead straight. It led down; down a flight of stairs, that is. And all the way at the end was another door—no, two other doors. But I didn't have to check to see if they were locked or not. Chances were not in my favor.

But, despite my misgivings, I decided it was worth a try. After taking the food back into the room, I began my way down the steep and narrow steps, groping at the peeling flowered wallpaper as I went. At the bottom, I tried the first door, not shocked at its refusal to budge. I turned towards the second door to realize something odd—it was already open.

Just a crack, was all. But once more, my hopes were raised.

I pushed open the door and squinted into the darkness, until I could vaguely make out the shape of a beaten-up toilet and sink, as well as a metal bath, in the tiny, closet-like space.

A bathroom! I sighed in relief. I hadn't gone in god knows how long, and it felt good to know I had easy access to one. I searched the walls to look for another switch but found none, and the only thing even resembling a light inside was an old and dusty candle sitting on a metal plate in the corner of the sink, with no matches to be seen anywhere nearby.

But still, I was grateful at the very least to have this one thing. It wasn't an escape, but it was still more than I'd ever hoped to ask for in this sort of position.

After finishing up in the bathroom, I walked up the stairs, stumbling several times on the old and creaking steps, wondering, in the back of my head, whether or not this building was safe to live in.

"Of course it's not," I muttered, incoherently, my mind wandering in its hungry, tired wake. "There's a mad man keeping me captive here. He carries a gun and switchblade, and he deeply enjoys scaring the living daylights out of me."

Back inside my room again, I shut the door behind me, and sat down on my bed to eat. Beforehand, I had barely even noticed the items on the plate. The only important thing that registered in my mind was that it was food, and I was hungry. But now, facing the odd pairings on the platter, it finally sunk in what exactly I was given to eat.

First, there was a small white plastic bowl, a bowl that completely contradicted the nice silver of the platter it sat on, and inside the bowl was a diced tomato. Just tomato—I picked up a piece warily and tasted it, mostly at first to see if there was anything funny about it. But no. It was just a simple tomato, cut into thumbnail-sized cubes.

Second, there was a lime-green ceramic dish—another contradiction on the platter. On it sat two pieces of white bread toast, and on the toast sat the largest heap of jam I had ever seen in my entire life. So much jam, to the point where it was more accurate to say the jam was served with a side of toast, and not the toast served with a side of jam. I dipped my finger into one of the gooey piles and licked it; again, testing for any weird flavors. There were none, but I quickly identified the jam flavor as strawberry.

Third and last was a cup of coffee, in a tiny porcelain tea cup, intricately decorated. It was the only thing that seemed even slightly suitable for the somewhat-tarnished silver platter it sat on. I picked it up and was deeply surprised to find the tea cup surprisingly heavy for its size and contents.

I took a sip anyway and choked on the sickeningly sweet liquid. It wasn't even a liquid anymore, really—it was more of a mushy substance. No wonder the cup was so heavy; the main part of the coffee wasn't the coffee. It was sugar. Just as the main part of the toast wasn't toast. It was jam.

While rubbing my tongue in an attempt to clean it of the nauseating mixture, I set the cup aside and away from the rest of the food. I had no desire to drink any more of it.

As for the rest of the food, I finished it within a minute, down to the last drop of jam on the plate.

My next problem arose when my thirst began to get the better of me. Like with the bathroom, it had been a while since I had something real to drink, and I certainly wasn't about to count the mush from earlier. I first thought of the sink downstairs; an easy way to get the water I desperately needed. This plan was cut short when the door leading out to the staircase refused to open. It was locked, once more, astounding me. The stairs outside it were so noisy, I could barely hear myself think while walking up and down them—yet somehow Ryuzaki managed to lock the door without making a sound.

With my only source of water now out of reach, I perched on the edge of the bed to think. With my stomach partially filled, and my head partially cleared, I started to notice things I before looked over.

Such as the room's color—it was not gray, as I had at first believed. In the light of the day, I realized the walls were actually painted a light cream. The bed's sheets were off-white, and the furniture seemed to match. The only two things in the room that stood as truly gray were the hardwood floors and the metal bed frame.

The piece of furniture I had before believed to be a dresser was actually a desk, with a stool pushed all the way underneath. I tried opening the drawers, but found nothing, save for a few religious books in the top right hand drawer, as if I were in a hotel. It seemed quite ironic that the room I was being held captive in came with a Bible, but maybe that was just me.

I checked underneath the bed itself, but the only thing I found there was a giant pile of dust.

With nothing left to look at, I stood up and shivered, in the icy cold wind blowing in from the open window. The sun had disappeared behind giant gray clouds, and a few flakes of snow were starting to fall from the sky. Still shivering, I took off my shirt, under which I wore a tank top, and plugged up the crack as best as I could. It stopped the draft, but the room was still slightly cool from before. Locating the nearest heating vent, I camped out there for the next few hours, until I heard the knock on the door again.

"Hello?" I was hesitant, once more, in case it wasn't the food like before. But once again there was no answer and when I opened the door, there on the floor sat the same sort of food as before.

I remembered this time about the water. Quickly, I dumped the bowl of tomatoes onto the plate with the jam, before pouring all of the soupy coffee mixture into the empty tomato bowl. Assuming I had around three to five minutes, I hurried down the stairs to wash out the cup and fill it with water. I gulped it down in one drink, and then repeated the process several times. Finally, I filled it up one last time, and headed back up to eat.

That night, it snowed. I laid in bed watching the snowflakes fall silently from the sky, lighting up the two alleyways remaining my only connection to the outside world. I drifted off to sleep that night in peace.

The next few days passed by in a blur.

After awaking the next morning, the dishes from before were gone. I wasn't sure how, but they were, and I could only assume Ryuzaki had visited in the night to remove them.

I was given food three times a day. It was always the same; tomatoes, bread, jam, and the over-sweetened coffee. Every once in a while, there would be something extra on the plate, like a few berries or a roll of some sort, but always those same items, no matter what. He didn't seem to notice my dislike for the coffee, since it was included in the meal anyway, although I didn't particularly care.

In the days that passed, I held a constant wonder as to why Ryuzaki never came to speak to me. Granted, I never particularly wished to speak to him, but I was growing nervous, wondering if I should be worried about his avoidance of me.

And then, six days after the first meal came, something else arrived with the food in the morning.

It was a small collection of newspaper clippings, paper-clipped together, dating back to the day I was first abducted. The very first piece was an article about my disappearance.

An article, complete with interviews, warnings, and all. I read through it, my heart in my stomach. It talked about how I went missing between the two buses scheduled, and how almost no one saw me get off the first bus in the first place. They interviewed the driver, who was reported to be "the last person to see me," and who responded that no, there was no one suspicious riding the bus that night. I nearly screamed in anger.

"Of course there was someone suspicious! He was the only other man on that bus! And you saw him get off with me!" Tears began to run down my dirty face. There was nothing that could be done now. Still frustrated, I continued to read.

The police investigation was still moving through Chicago, but they were beginning to expand their search, under the grounds that if I was truly abducted, the abductor would most likely not stay in the area for too long. I wanted to scream at this too. I couldn't have been more than a quarter mile from the station.

But once more, there was nothing that could be done. Not wishing to reread the article again, I flipped to the next piece in the collection.

It was dated one day after the article of mine. It discussed the brutal murder of a woman in her early twenties, and how her body was found covered in snow in a park by a young boy. The article was disturbing; especially considering how eerily close the circumstances were to mine. She went missing at night, after taking the city bus to her neighborhood in a shady district of town. The driver could not identify anyone suspicious on the bus and no one remember seeing her once she arrived. She just magically disappeared, only to be found the next morning.

The next clipping was about a sixty-year-old man who was admitted to the hospital after claiming he had seen "a God of the Dead" rise before him in the middle of the night, offering to kill him if he wished to no longer live. The man had panicked in shock and grabbed a knife from his bedside table, only to have it taken from him quickly. He was then stabbed in the shoulder, and was close to dying from blood loss when his daughter found him the following morning.

The other few were similar to the first two; murders, torture, all seemingly disconnected, although all with a few similarities: done at night, with a knife, and by a man that no one could identify.

Once I had read through them, all dated up until the day before, I slowly folded the papers up and clutched them in my hand, as I curled up in a ball on the bed. What was going on? What did these stories mean? They were all so shocking; so disturbing. I stayed in that position until nighttime fell, not even bothering to get up at the knocks on my door. I didn't have an appetite anymore—I guess emotion stress won this round.


	5. The Night Visit

The Night Visit

That night, I decided to wait for Ryuzaki.

I did not wish to talk to him, but I felt it was my only choice. I wanted to know everything. Why he had taken me, why he was avoiding me, why he gave me the newspaper articles.

I faked my sleep so he would visit. But with every second that passed, my heart seemed to beat even faster, and I wondered if it would give me away. I was so afraid of him, so frightened, that I almost wished he wouldn't come that night. But… I had to know.

I was certain I would hear him on the stairs. I never did before, but I believed that he might be less quiet at night, since I would be asleep. And I figured that if I didn't hear him on the stairs, I would hear the door open, or at least the creaking of the old floorboards.

As I waited I watched through the window to outside, as a blizzard sent a flurry of snow, completely masking the wall of the alley behind it. The window was almost wholly iced over, and my shirt didn't really look like it was holding up too well. But at the very least, I was still warm, or warm enough.

I didn't hear or see him come at all. I turned, simply out of discomfort for staying in the same position for so long, and when my eyes caught sight of him, I almost screamed.

"Why were you faking?" He asked. It sounded so much to his question on the bus, _Why did you lie?_ I gave an involuntary shudder.

"I… I wanted to speak to you." In my head, I reminded myself to act strong. "I have questions."

"And I have answers, my dear." He was standing at the end of the bed. I sat up carefully and crossed my legs, hesitant. I cleared my throat, trying to gather all the courage I could. Finally, I spoke again.

"Who… who are you?" My mind flashed back to the bus once more and his voice as he introduced himself. _Ryuzaki. Charmed._ I could still feel his cold lips as they grazed my hand.

"My true name is Beyond Birthday," he said. I blinked. Beyond Birthday? What sort of name was that?

"Oh." I bit my lip. "I guess… Why am I here?"

He smiled, that cruel little smirk. "Why?" He moved to the side of the bed and crouched down, his face soon very close to mine. He pulled out the knife from before, the switchblade, and opened it up.

"I've met you once before, you know. Don't bother to think back. You won't remember it." I tried, anyway, but as he said, I came up with nothing. I met him? When?

"I chose you because I… Well, I guess you could say I took a liking to you, if you wish to put it in those words. And I chose you because you were perfect for my… game. My experiment."

"C-c-conduct?" My eyes were on the knife and on the knife only. Maybe it was just my nerves, but I could have sworn I saw a bit of blood on the handle, shining in the reflected light from the snow.

"Yes." Suddenly his eyes traveled up until he was looking at something else, something above my head. I looked up too, as I followed his eyes, but I saw nothing.

"What…?" I began to ask. My voice stopped short when I saw him draw forward the knife.

"NO!" I screamed, as he drove the knife towards my chest. In a panicked attempt to block him, I grabbed his wrist, and somehow managed to disarm him. The knife clattered to the ground below the bed. Breathing hard, I looked up at him as he smiled down at me.

"Interesting." He said, retrieving the knife, staring at is curiously. "Very interesting."

I leaned as far as I could away from him. I already knew he was insane, but this sort of thing seemed to go beyond insanity. His eyes turned to me once more.

"But… If I…" Once more, he came at me with the knife. Once more, I tried to block him; however, this time, I failed as the knife cut me below my collarbone, in a spot close to the place he had scratched the few days previous. I closed my eyes and clenched my jaw at the pain. His open hand gripped the arm I had used to protect myself. Blood spilled onto my shirt.

"Yes." He let go of me as he backed away, holding the knife. "Interesting…"

I gripped at the sheets of the bed, holding them against the injury, trying to stop the bleeding. He only looked at me and laughed.

"Did I answer all of your questions? Oh, wait. You were probably wondering about the articles I left you, right?" Tears still fell down my cheeks, from my burning eyes. He laughed again.

"I just wanted to give you an idea of who you're dealing with." He touched the tip of the bloody knife to his smiling mouth before heading towards the open door of the room. He stopped, briefly, outside the doorway, his eyes flickering with red in the dark.

"Sleep well, my dear," were his last words as he closed and locked the door behind him.


	6. The Proposition

The Proposition

Of course, I did not sleep well that night.

As a matter of fact, I didn't sleep at all. The blankets with which I had used to stop the flow of blood from my wound were, obviously, ruined. And so after I did manage to fix up the wound well enough, my sleeping conditions were not at their most glamorous. Still shaking from my earlier meeting, I gathered up and stripped the sheets from the bed, and threw them in the corner of the room.

The only things that managed to come out of the ordeal relatively unscathed were the two pillows and the mattress cover. Chilled and deeply shaken and still dripping blood, I curled up in a ball in the middle of the bed. In some ways, I did not regret my chosen actions to meet with Ryuzaki—that is, this Beyond Birthday. In other ways, I wished the idea had never crossed my mind. But what mattered most was the information I had collected.

He was a killer. A murder, it seemed, who enjoyed torture. And I had met him before, apparently, although I had absolutely no idea when that may have been. However, I still had almost no clue as to why I was being held captive in an old, run-down building while my serial killer abductor went on continuous rampages of rape and torture throughout the near and distant area of Chicago.

In simpler words… Why was I still alive?

I remained awake until the sun rose outside. I waiting then, for the usual knock on the door, but it never came. Curious after some time, I stood and tried the door handle to find it unlocked.

The door at the end of the stairs was unlocked as well. Heart beating quickly in my chest, I slowly pushed the heavy door open.

The room that faced me looked something like a parlor. There was a fireplace that sat facing a moth-eaten plaid couch, although no fire crackled inside. There was a beaten coffee table in front of the couch, and bookshelves covered the walls. The room's only source of light came from a small window opposite to the fireplace.

On the opposite wall from where I stood, there was an entrance to another room, a room that sat completely eclipsed in dark.

I was afraid to move from the doorframe. Was I let out on purpose? Or was it an accident? It was hard for me to imagine Ryuzaki making such a simple mistake as to forget locking a door, but anything was possible. I hesitated before taking my first step into the parlor room.

I was expecting an alarm to sound, red lights to buzz, metal bars to close in around me, but nothing happened. I walked forward, still studying the parlor room curiously. Something I had previously dismissed quickly came to my attention.

There were candles. Hundreds of them. They lined the tops of the bookshelves, the corners of the coffee table, the floor. I didn't need to think twice about why my captor needed candles. If this really was an abandoned building of some sort, a building that Ryuzaki had taken over, then it made sense that there wouldn't be any electricity. And it was pretty obvious he didn't have a very strict schedule when it came to his killings. So, it was only likely that he'd be up at some point during the night, and it's pretty hard to move around at midnight when there is absolutely no light to speak of.

Why he would bother with so many candles, though, was beyond me. You only needed one or two to truly see in the dark.

But his reasoning did not matter much then. I crossed the room to the entrance on the other side and squinted, trying to see into the darkness. From what I could make out, it was just a simple hallway, lined with doorways.

I tried the first one on the right. It opened up to a small closet-like room, with a bunk bed and a desk similar to the one in my room. The first door on the left opened up to something exactly similar. I tried all the doors down the row, revealing two more like the first, a bathroom, a broom closet, and finally, at the end of the hallways to the right, a large, master bedroom.

It was hard for me to tell if anyone was living in it. It seemed as dusty and dirty as the others, but there were sheets on the bed, and the window was open above the bed just a smidge. I closed the door quietly and turned to face the last one, on the left.

It opened into another hallway. I was already thoroughly confused by the structural design of the building—I felt like I was trying to make my way through a maze. And it was also nearly impossible to tell where everything was placed inside the building entirely, especially with such an odd assortment of rooms and windows. From what I could gather, my bedroom was really no more than a storage room with a bed in it. The "parlor room" was more like a secret back room, for guests only, or something of the sort. And the hallway I had just come from was also a guest hallway. But with a master bedroom…? None of it made sense and I couldn't help but feel victimized by the building's architect, as if it had been designed just to perplex _me_.

And everywhere I looked, candles! What could one man possibly do with so many candles? Who had time to light them all at night? Who had time to blow them out?

I managed to get through another series of hallways before reaching another set of stairs. They led down to a doorway similar to the one from the room I was trapped in. I reached out tried the handle, once again, finding it unlocked. Before entering the next room, I tried to trace through my mind where exactly I'd been so far in the maze, but I couldn't quite remember. So I crossed my fingers and hoped that I'd be able to find my way back if all of this led to nothing.

When the door opened, once more, I saw yet another room entirely encased in black. And once more, I strained my eyes to see into the darkness. And then, just out of the corner of my eye, I caught something move.

"Planning on escaping?"

Two pair of red eyes lit in the darkness. I heard the sound of a match striking, and then a candle was lit, casting Ryuzaki—Beyond?—in an eerie glow. I took a deep breath by I shuddered as I let it out. This man had the ability to transform me from completely calm to completely crazed.

"Uh… No… J-j-just exploring." I stammered uneasily.

"Exploring, huh?" I looked for signs of the switchblade, but he didn't seem to have it on him. He stood up, and the candle revealed him to be wearing the exact same thing as the day on the bus—and possibly even the same thing as the night before. It's hard to memorize clothing when you're hiding in fear.

"Well, I'm glad you found your way here. I have a proposition."

"Huh? You let me out on purpose?"

"Of course. You didn't really think I'd make a mistake as stupid as to leave all the doors unlocked, did you?"

No, I really didn't. He was much too smart for that. I cleared my throat.

"Ryuzaki…"

His eyes were now back to their usual dark color, but I could still see red flashing through them when I said that name.

"Please. Call me Beyond Birthday."

"Beyond…" I said carefully. "I still don't understand why I'm here."

"That's a good thing, in my eyes." Beyond turned and lit another match, lighting another candle that sat on a wooden table behind him now. In the faint light, I could just barely make out the rest of the room; a kitchen, it was, and a very nice one from what I could tell. Much too nice for the sort of building we were in. Nothing was sitting on the countertops aside from a large empty serving bowl and an antique radio right next to the sink. A thick blackout curtain blocked any and all sunlight from a window next to the refrigerator.

"Why?" I was really genuinely curious. Why was keeping me in the dark a good thing? I doubted I had any sort of advantage at the time.

"Because you have more power in this situation than you think."

Ha! I seriously doubted that. I actually laughed, right then in there, earning me a curiously deadly glare in my direction from Beyond.

"I didn't say it was funny."

Did he need to say something was funny in order for me to laugh? Didn't he just get done telling me I had at least some power? I shook my head.

"I'm sorry, it's just… Really? How can I possibly have any sort of power over _you_?"

"I didn't say it was over me either."

We were both silent for a moment, our eyes locked together, until he finally broke the stare to turn and head over to the fridge. He then brought out a plate of something… brown.

Brown and delicious.

"Is that… cake?" I asked. He shot me a look as if to say, don't speak unless you are spoken too. I shut my mouth quickly. I had to remember—although it was hard to forget—that one wrong move could be deadly for me.

Beyond set the plate on the wooden table with the candles. He peeled back a layer of saran wrap in order to give me a better look. I couldn't tell what flavor the cake was, but the frosting was most definitely chocolate, and intricately decorated, too. It looked like the sort of cake you buy in a fancy bakery or order for a wedding. It was small—only one layer. But in that moment, it was the only thing I wanted.

And I had good reason for it, too. I hadn't eaten for the past few days. That day, because Beyond never fed me, and the day before because of the disturbing delivery that came with my food. I was ravenous. Beyond smiled his awful smile, and laughed that unnatural laugh.

"You look hungry." He said, almost cruelly. Although I think it would be safe to say that everything Beyond said had a small hint of cruelty mixed in with it.

"As I was saying before, I have a proposition for you, my dear." He walked over to the counters and drew a small cutting knife out of a drawer. He brought it back to the cake and slowly cut into it, just with the tip. When he pulled it back out, the top of the knife was covered in frosting and crumbs.

Beyond slid the knife into his mouth and licked it clean; his eyes, taunting me as he did so. He could tell I wanted the cake, and badly, too. Even if I wasn't starving, I would still want it, just because of the fact I'd only been dining on tomatoes and jam for the past week.

"As you may have noticed, I failed to feed you today. This wasn't an accident; it seems that I've run into a bit of a predicament."

I eyed him suspiciously. Of course, I had every right to be suspicious of him every time of the day. But he had a strange smile on his lips—even stranger than his usual smile.

"I saw this beautiful cake in a bakery shop the other day and thought of you."

And thought of me? He bought the cake for me? I furrowed my brow in confusion.

"But I—" I began.

"Silence!" He ordered, stabbing the knife into the wood of the table. I jumped and closed my mouth shut in fear. He smiled once more.

"I thought of you. I thought of how much you might enjoy this cake. So I bought it."

Once again, I gave him a confused, sideways look.

"Unfortunately," He then stared at the cake artfully, with a dramatically fake sad face. "Unfortunately, the cake was rather expensive. Do you know how much it cost?"

I was afraid to speak up again, so I kept my mouth shut. Beyond pulled the knife out of the table, leaving a deep niche behind in the wood.

"Well? Do you?"

Silence. I shifted from one foot to the other, suddenly growing uncomfortable from standing in the same position for so long.

He laughed. "Perhaps I shouldn't tell you the exact amount. You might punish me for being so lavish; especially seeing as I spent the entire next week's money set aside for your food on this cake."

I widened my eyes. For my food…? Did he mean…?

"And after I had this cake here, and I reflected on it being your only possible meal until I can secure some more money, I began to wonder…" He drifted off for a moment, his head tilted to the side. "I began to wonder… I began to think to myself, _Beyond Birthday, how far do you think this pathetic little girl will go to eat this week?_"

No… He couldn't mean…

"This is when I thought up something marvelous. A very easy, and very simple, way to get you to do whatever it is I want."

My mouth felt dry and sticky as I tried to swallow. I had that all-eclipsing clasp of fear over my heart. I didn't want to hear what it was he had to say next—no matter what it would be; I knew I wouldn't like it.

"My dear. This is where my proposition comes in."

Beyond placed the saran wrap back over the cake and put the plate back into the fridge. He walked over to the table and sat down again, the knife still gleaming in the candlelight. Despite the relatively cool temperature of the building, sweat began to run down my neck.

"P-pr-proposition?" I forgot myself; my words tumbled out before I could think differently. Beyond either didn't notice or didn't mind this time around, for he said nothing to my speaking. It was like he had a split personality—and I never knew when he wanted one thing, or another.

"Yes. I will give you that cake, as well as share with you all the food I happened to buy for myself this week, if you help me with… something."

If this was a horror movie, a crack of lightning would have been suitable around this point. However, although it did seem like a horror movie to me, the building—and the sky—remained silent.

"What is it?" I asked finally, when he didn't continue.

He was holding the cutting knife again, like he held the switchblade; and his eyes kept glancing between me and it, as if he were holding back on something. "Hmm." He muttered something I couldn't understand before walking back over to the drawers and replacing it.

"What is it?" I repeated.

He came back to the table and sat down at one of the chairs. "Well, my dear. I believe I would like your assistance with one of my… trials."

"Trials?" I asked. "You mean… Like in the newspaper…"

He nodded slowly, the candlelight making him appear devil-like in the glow.

"No." I said, harshly. "No, no, no, no, no, no, no. Absolutely not. I would never do something like that!"

He turned his head to the side, smiling slightly. "Are you sure?"

"Never. You can't make me—you can starve me, hurt me, kill me, whatever—but I will never help you kill someone. Ever."

"Hmm. I have to say I'm disappointed, my dear—"

"And stop calling me that!" I gasped at my outburst, surprised at the rage that surged inside of me. It was quickly replaced by fear when Beyond leapt from the table and pinned me to the opposite wall, the force knocking the wind right out of me.

I choked and struggled as he held my arms in place. "Look at me," he growled, and he kept me pushed hard against the wall until finally I obeyed him. He didn't have a knife, or a gun, but like he had said the first day—the threat wasn't in the weapon. He was the threat. And I had no doubt that he could have killed me with his bare hands if he wished it so. I couldn't run, because I wasn't faster than him. And I couldn't fight, because I wasn't stronger than him.

When my eyes met his, I wanted to just disappear entirely off the face of the Earth. Really, how did I get into this situation? Why did it have to be me? Why? A tear fell down my cheek.

"You will obey me. You will let me do whatever I want. You will let me call you whatever I want. You may have a little bit of power, my dear, but it's not much."

He kept me like that for at least five minutes, just forcing me to stare at him, before he dropped me. I fell to the ground, holding my arms in pain—the faint outlines of bad bruises were beginning to show where he had grabbed me. I rested my head against the wall, more tears beginning to drip down my face.

Beyond walked over to me and lifted me up onto my feet, my legs buckling and threatening to collapse again. He turned me around, his hands on my shoulders, and leaned in to whisper in my ear.

"Think about my proposition. I think you'd be surprised how hard it is to go without food."

Then he pushed me through the open doorway. I walked slowly down the hall until I heard the door to the kitchen close and lock behind me. As soon as I heard that click, I began to run, and didn't stop until I reached the familiar drafty coolness of my prison room.


	7. The Escape

The Escape

After my meeting with Beyond, I knew my time was up. He was going to starve me unless I obeyed him completely, and there was no chance of that happening anytime soon. I was never much of the rebel type, but this situation was, obviously, something entirely different.

Once back inside my room, I punched the wall, angrily, without really thinking. I bit back a scream as the pain rang through the bones of my hand and even extended all the way up my right arm. Collapsing to the ground, I closed my eyes and massaged my temples, trying hard to relieve the headache that had sprouted from the awful day's events. I looked into the mirror, across the room, and noticed the fingerprint bruises that dotted my shoulders and arms from Beyond's earlier grip.

Yes, I really did need to get out of there. I couldn't stay and wait for a chance to jump out of nowhere; I had to create my own escape. My own chance. I went over several possibilities in my head, possibilities including jumping out of the window, and throwing a note down to the alleyway below.

Both were absolutely terrible ideas for multiple reasons. I couldn't jump out of the window—it was too far up from the ground, and I was too afraid of heights to try and climb down the wall. I would most likely lose my holding and fall to my death. I couldn't drop a note because the likelihood of someone retrieving it was close to impossible, due not only to weather destroying the call for help, but to the utter emptiness of the alleyway below, of which the people on the streets avoided cautiously. That, and there was the possibility of Beyond finding it. I didn't watch out the windows 24/7, but the door he had led me through the first day let out into the alleyway, and the chance of that door being on the side I drop that note is 50%. Over 50%, if you count the fact that my luck had been running a bit short lately.

My bedroom door was locked once more. I knew it without having to check. And even if it wasn't, and I could run back past the stairs and into the main building, I knew I had no chance of finding my way.

So what was there left for me? Feeling desperate and on the verge of even more tears, I stood up and walked to the mirror, for a closer look at myself.

The ratted tangles in my hair had only worsened over the past days, and my skin was so dirty and oily that it was a miracle I hadn't broken out in hives yet. My clothes were beginning to grow ragged and worn, and I was growing so, so tired of wearing my jeans to sleep every night—but of course, I was not comfortable with removing them to sleep, in the prospect of Beyond walking in for another chat. I sighed and rubbed my eyes, my stomach growling in protest against my own rebellion. A few days ago, in a particular moment, I had been sitting on the dusty floors of this room, scarfing down a nauseating mix of tomatoes and jam. I never thought I would miss that moment so much.

About to give up on my search for an escape, I groaned and leaned forward, until my head bumped against the mirror, my eyes staring at a reflection only a centimeter away from me. And then, something caught my glance.

It was no more than just a mark in the mirror. A scratch, connected to the crack that ran straight down the middle of the dirty glass. But that mark made me notice something else. Something on the opposite wall. Something that I had done.

I turned and walked hurriedly to the wall I had punched, not believing what was before my eyes. I reached out and touched the light denting in the wall, the darker mark where my fist had met paint.

_If my hand can do something like that alone…_I thought, my brain running miles a minute. I was detoured by a particularly bad hunger pang, but quickly, I set my mind to the task of finding exactly what I needed.

I opened up the drawers of the desk again, trying to dislodge them from their holders, but I failed. I picked up the stool underneath the desk to test its weight, but it was too light, not nearly heavy enough for the purpose I had in mind.

Then, my eyes trailed back to the window. And above the window. Something I had previously noticed, but quickly dismissed, since something as simple as a long curtain rod resting on metal hinges barely classifies as important in one's mind. But now, the heavy silver-colored thing was perfect for the deed I was about to commit.

I stood on the stool to reach and, pulling the rod slowly and carefully down from its perch. I then rested it below the covers of my bed in case Beyond decided to make a visit—at that was left to do then, was to sit, wait, watch, and listen.

I had no way of figuring out when Beyond was out of the building, so I tried simply keeping an eye out of the windows. It was tough, but eventually—and very easily, to my surprise—I caught his leave, right at dusk, as he slipped out and into the alleyway below the slightly-opened window. I bit my lip as I saw him go, wondering how my luck had turned for the better in this one instance. But I couldn't sit there and ponder the workings of good fortune and the universe—I had no idea when Beyond would return.

Within seconds, I was up and standing close to the wall, the metal rod weighing down my hands, sweat dripping down my face despite the still-continual draft from the window. As I lifted up the rod, pulling it back like a baseball bat, I had the faint tug in my stomach; a familiar sense of déjà vu. And as my arms moved instinctively from that pose, swinging the rod as hard as they could manage, I remembered that moment on the bus as it left the station, when in my mind, I thought those few words—_There's no going back now_. And as I heard the sickening smack of the rod cracking into the cream wall, and smelled the damp drywall and insulation as it crumbled, I knew there was no better way to describe the feeling buzzing inside my body.

There's no going back now.

When the first hit was over, I threw my arms back and kept hitting, over and over and over, taking out all my fears and anger on the poor barrier. But I guess when something stands in your way, between you and your wellbeing, you do exactly as I did then with my curtain rod—you break and tear whatever it is down to the ground.

Despite the original ease of denting the wall, I guess I expected it to be harder to create a hole large enough to slip through than it ended up being. Maybe it was because of the building's age, or its lack of up-keeping, but before I knew it, I could see through to the other side, despite the dusty flecks of drywall that had kicked up and all around me. It was an abandoned room identical to the one I was in, except without the furniture, and without a door to block the view of the staircase. I kept hitting and hitting until finally I believed it to be wide enough.

Feeling elated, I laid down my curtain rod and smiled to myself. It felt like the first time in my life that I had taken this sort of initiative to pave a path in my own destiny. And the idea of escaping, the idea of getting out this prison, the idea of having outsmarted Beyond, was just so sweet; I couldn't help but gloat a little, despite me not exactly being the gloating type. I didn't bother to linger much longer, though. So I surveyed my work and deliberated the best way to get through the jagged hole.

But that was when I felt it. A tiny prick in my stomach, and in my heart. A prick that made my hair stand up on end and my mouth immediately go dry. I wasn't sure what alerted me to the fact that Beyond was back, but I knew. Yes, I definitely knew then that I was about to be caught.

I guess in the face of a situation such as this, Beyond did not bother with remaining quiet. I heard that door open unlike all the other times he had entered the room, and I turned around, wide-eyed, to face him. There was just a split second where our eyes locked, and in that split second, a few vital things seemed to occur, or at the very least, a few vital things did come to my attention.

The first thing I noticed was his expression. The Beyond I had grown to know over the past days had seemed cool, calm, and collected—icy, with just a bit of power, a bit of passion, a bit of fire behind his eyes, fire that only escaped within two instances. One of these instances, being that he is enraged, and another, being him simply losing his mind, with or without provocation. I did not know Beyond very well at that point—I only knew from my experience with him, from his actions during the short periods of time that I was in his presence, of these traits I have just relayed.

However, I knew enough about him, and had learned enough about him, to decide on one thing: Beyond never was surprised. Or, at the very least, he did not seem like the type to easily become surprised. Although I guess this instance was an exception, for in that brief split second, his expression was one of genuine shock. And then it changed, to something I could not identify—though I did know one thing for certain: it was very, very frightening. Only after I got past his expression did I notice the next thing.

He had, splattered lightly and almost vaguely unnoticeably on his jeans, just a tad bit of something dark. Dark, deep, and a crimson red.

But I couldn't consider this for very long, for my eyes quickly found the switchblade in his hand, perfectly pristine and clean, despite its undeniably messy record with Beyond's numerous victims.

Before that second was even over with, I felt my muscles tense up in preparation for the getaway I was about to make. I had come so far—I couldn't give up now, surrender myself in to his punishment, risk dying at the hands of this maniac. I couldn't lose this chance. I had promised myself. Briefly, in my head, I heard that mantra from what felt like ages before.

_I will take that chance, no matter what. I will take that chance, no matter what._

"I will take this chance no matter what." I muttered under my breath before sprinting as fast as I could through the hole.


	8. The Chase

The Chase

I was no longer in control of my body. My legs were moving on their own, my brain was thinking on its own. I could feel, very literally feel, the adrenaline as it pulsed through me. Or maybe my blood was just pumping that quickly. I didn't really have time to think about it, and my brain wasn't giving me any room to think anyway. Because behind me was Beyond, hot on my heels, and ahead of me was an open doorway to freedom. I didn't even pause when something jagged from the hole scratched a long thing line into my arm. I just kept running towards that doorway.

As a matter of fact, I was running so fast, by the time I actually reached the doorway I almost stumbled in my effort to slow down and descent the steep stairs. I tried to rush them anyway, jumping three or four at a time, while every part of my being still questioned why Beyond had yet to catch up with me. I did not let myself turn back and look.

At the bottom of the stairs were two doorways, identical still to the part of the building I had been imprisoned in. It was as if this piece was a mirror image of the previous one. If I hadn't been caught up in the race, I would have worried, for if Beyond didn't catch me right away, then it would be the maze of the freak building that would slow me down and bring about my demise.

I ran straight into the first door, barging through and practically breaking it open as I went. I flew down the hallways, entering each entrance, going down each set of stairs, until I felt as if I were on the first or second floor. I couldn't feel my legs, but I at the very least I could still move. I was never this fast before, and I guess that's what adrenaline and the need to survive can do for you.

When you are in a competition, a friendly sporting race out on the track field, you are not being hunted. But when a hunter becomes involved, and it is someone or something as dangerous and ruthless as this man chasing me right now, everything changes completely.

After going through another randomized doorway, I took a brief pause, in a time that couldn't have lasted longer than three seconds, to slow (although not stop completely) and look around. I was in a room similar to a lobby, with a large stretch of concrete flooring, and random bits and pieces of furniture scattered about and covered with white cloth. Back behind me, I could see through the doorway of which I had just entered, and the staircase beyond it.

There were no more doors, save for the latter, but instead, a broken window over on the far end of the strange lobby area. Through the one doorway, I saw the hurried shadow of Beyond descending the stairs, and I knew I didn't have much time.

Breathing heavily, I kicked up my pace once more and shot out the hole in the serrated glass window, landing, nearly unscathed, on a slab of concrete. I grinned to myself as I felt the cold December air envelop me. I was free! I was free! I was…

Not free. Not at all.

What I thought was the first floor had actually been the third. This made no sense—I had to have gone down at least five flights of stairs, and I was on the fifth or sixth floor of the building to begin with! I turned around and around in a circle, still not believing what had happened. If anything, I had trapped myself out here, on some sort of concrete deck.

The spinning and the terror combined made me suddenly very nauseous. I crouched down, thinking as quickly as possible. How could I get out of this? Beyond was about to show up at any minute. I had to think… Think…

Suddenly, my eyes moved from down to up. Up, that is, above me. There was a balcony, similar to the one I stood on myself, just two or three feet above, and maybe three or four feet away, connected to the building opposite of this one. If I could just reach that balcony… Then maybe I'd have a chance of getting away.

Through the broken window leading into the first building, I caught a glimpse of Beyond as he paused inside the lobby-like room and skimmed it with his eyes, before they landed on the broken window, and eventually, on me. I let out a gasp of fear as I saw him begin to come forward, believing to have me trapped. I looked up at the balcony ahead again, and then down below to the snowy alleyway grounds.

My fear of heights was not a particularly bad one, but it was bad enough. I swallowed that fear up and convinced myself that the ground was closer than it looked, and a punishment from Beyond was bound to be far worse than a fatal crash to the ground. Could a fall from three flights kill a person? I guess I would find out, if things turned for the worse.

Shaking, I grabbed hold of the metal barrier bars of the balcony I stood on and hoisted myself up, until I was balancing on the thin metal railing. One more glance through the broken window told me that Beyond had spotted my plan, as he was now racing towards the deck. I looked above me and swallowed back my fear. My only chance…

Just as Beyond reached the window, I jumped. My fingers only barely grasped the icy railing as my feet left their perch on the previous deck. I thought I could hear Beyond say—or curse—something behind me as I dangled there, but my mind couldn't process any sound. Despite the cold weather, and my inappropriate attire, a drop of sweat fell down and over my cheek. Or perhaps it was a tear. I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate.

As mentioned before, I had never been all that strong. My arms shook severely as I tried to pull myself up. I dropped one arm to grab hold of one of the metal barrier bars, instead of the actual railing itself, and used that leverage to pull my knee onto the very edge of the balcony. I brought the other knee up, and then, eventually, I managed to move the first knee and replace it with my foot, still hanging on for dear life, although I was beginning to get a good stance on the banister. I used my still-shaking arms to hold my weight, as I brought up the other foot, and then, stood up from my crouching position. Once there, I stood, sweating or crying or whatever it was I was doing, and still quivering from the energy it had taken to pull myself up. I swore to myself, right then and there, that if I ever survived this incident, the first thing I would do upon returning home is sign up for a gym membership.

It reached my attention, then, that Beyond did not follow me. As a matter of fact, I never truly saw him pass through the broken window. After I had swung myself over the railing of the balcony to the safety of the other side, a shattering of glass answered any questions I had about his whereabouts. So the hole from which I had escaped from was not big enough to let him through. But now, that didn't really matter.

He placed down the metal baseball bat he'd used to break the glass, and jumped through the window. Without missing a beat, he jumped, one-footed, onto the railing, and then up to grab the barriers of the balcony I had taken ten times longer to reach. I screeched, openly then, and turned to run, knowing that the chase was not to be put on hold by my quick thinking.

I turned to face the building, and saw, connected to the balcony, a pair of French doors, seemingly much too nice to lead out and face the disgusting city alleyway opposite of it. Nevertheless, I tried the lock, and gasped in relief when it opened. I flung myself inside the dark building and closed the doors behind me, locking them as I did.

I stopped entirely and faced the doorways, waiting for something, anything, to happen. The silence of the moment was so powerful, it was almost deafening. A dim light poured into the room I stood in from a tall, slanted window above the doorway—much too far, I knew, for Beyond to reach, and much too small for him to fit through. I sighed as still nothing happened, and lowered my head to catch my breath, a sick feeling welling up inside my stomach.

And then, _BANG_. The two doors were smacked inward, the sound in all the silence making me jump. _BANG. CRACK._I quickly caught on to his plan, and I knew—it wouldn't be long before he made it inside.

I hurriedly looked around at my surroundings. It seemed as if I were in a small apartment building, made up of a living/bed room, and a small kitchenette attached. A landline phone sat on the counter in the kitchenette, next to the oven. Ahead of me was a doorway that I guessed led out to the rest of the building. I ran to this door first, and slammed into it, twisting the knob desperately as I heard another _bang_ and _crack_ behind me.

"Come on, come on!" I muttered, still twisting at the knob. I checked for a turnlock, but found none, although the door was obviously locked. It had to be locked from both sides, only accessible with a key. Panting, now, in all my frantic panic, I turned back to the living room and kitchenette, my eyes falling on the counter where the phone sat.

I grabbed the thick dinosaur machine, wondering all the while what exactly happened to cordless phones, and ducked into a pantry connected to the kitchenette, with the line connected to the wall outside running through the bottom crack of the door.

Hurriedly, I shut the door and picked up the phone, heart beating breathlessly as I punched in the only three numbers I needed to remember in that moment.

"911, what's your emergency?" Came a lady's voice through the speaker. I heard a particularly bad crack from the French doors, only a few feet away from my hiding place. Still panting, I rushed to find my words.

"H-h-help. I-I'm stuck in a building, and I'm being chased—" _SNAP_. I yelped at the loud noise.

"Stay on the line, and we'll trace your call. What's your name, ma'am?"

"It's—" I stopped.

"Ma'am?"

"I-I-I…" I swallowed and searched my head for my name, but for some reason, I couldn't reach it. My name. My name. What was my name?

"I've been kidnapped!" I exclaimed instead. "I was taken down an alleyway, and locked in a room, and the man who took me, he's—"

_CRACK._Through the bottom of the door, I could see a new light filtering in from outside. He was in.

I squeaked something unintelligible as silence followed the last definite break. On the other side of the line, the woman from the police was trying to get me to speak.

"Ma'am? Are you there? Are you okay? Try to stay put, we've sent out the police—"

Whatever else she said was out of my mind. All my attention then went to the shadow that I saw, slowly creeping in front of the door. I was frozen in place, not thinking, not hearing, not blinking, not breathing, and the horror I felt in that moment was completely unexplainable. I heard the woman's voice once more.

"Ma'am?"

I screamed as the door flung wildly open, revealing the dark, looming form of Beyond Birthday.

"Hello, my dear. You've caused quite a lot of trouble."

My scream was cut off when he leaned forward and pressed something thick against my face. I dropped the phone and my eyes closed, as everything quickly faded into darkness.


	9. The Policeman

The Policeman

I awoke to complete darkness. No, it was more than darkness…

Nothingness.

I couldn't hear anything. I couldn't see anything. I couldn't even _feel_ anything. My entire body, all my senses, were completely numb. I wondered, briefly, if I was dead.

But then, there was something. Just the faintest hint of a scent, so vague and so subtle that if I took the time to panic in my own, horrific little hell, I would have missed it completely. But it was there, and when I concentrated, I could almost just pinpoint it.

Was it… sweet? No, bitter. Very bitter. It smelled familiar, as well, and it reminded me of summer days, early mornings, big breakfasts… And the total and complete numbness…

It was a strange sensation, really. It reminded me of a dream I had when I was younger—a dream somewhat similar to the one I had on the Greyhound bus. In it, I was trapped in my castle. And my prince would come, dressed in black—my Dark Prince, and I excitedly awaited his arrival in my tower. When he did arrive, though, instead of kissing me, he gave me a single, poison apple, just like in the story of Snow White. Except in my dream I never could remember the story, and why the apple would be dangerous, and so, I would thank the Dark Prince and eat the apple before slipping into a long, deep sleep, with no one, absolutely no one, there to wake me up.

And it wasn't until my alarm rang in the morning that I _would_ finally awake.

This felt so similar to the sleep, that senseless sleep, that I wondered if I was just stuck in my dream again. Stuck in that place so eerily close to death. But I couldn't really remember much from before. Had I taken a bite out of the poisoned apple? Would I need an alarm to wake me?

But wait… The smell. The bitter smell. That had to be something. No, I wasn't dead, and I wasn't sleeping. I was as conscious as ever.

The smell disappeared for a moment, and after it did, I began to feel my body again. It was like every limb had fallen asleep and only now were they all waking up. It was a relief, being able to feel once more—although I knew in my head I wasn't stuck in that dream, or dead, it was good to have some evidence to go along with it.

Once the tingling sensation died down, I could feel sharp, metal bindings on my wrists and ankles. It wasn't too much of a restraint—or, at least, that's what I thought at first. Then I noticed that whenever I made a move or twitch, the pain from the bindings was unbearable. After a while, I gave up trying to do much of anything, just so I could relax a moment from the pain.

I shook my somewhat-throbbing head and tried to focus.

_I have to think clearly,_ I thought, _and I have to think tactically, and that is how I'm going beat Beyond at this awful game he's trying to play._

That's all it was, after all. A game. Or, at least, it helped to think of it like that. Only there was no restart for this game; one wrong move could get me killed, and for good. But one right move, and, well… I could live happily ever after.

And so, with that, I decided to try speaking. Opening up my mouth wasn't hard, but I couldn't get out anything more than a whisper, a whisper that sounded very faint and very small in my surrounding darkness. I couldn't scream, either, although if I could barely whisper, that didn't surprise me too much.

I also tried to get a feel of my surroundings. It would help to know where I was, and why the darkness around me was so… well, dark. Was it nighttime? Or was I in just a sealed room?

If the room was completely sealed, would I suffer from eventual suffocation?

No, that seemed silly. If Beyond were to kill me, he wouldn't kill me this way… would he?

I tried to ignore that impending thought and instead focused on moving my throbbing limps in all directions. My legs hit the wall (or door?) first and my head hit the opposite wall not long afterwards.

When I clenched my teeth together to cope with the pain, and turned around a complete ninety degrees, the dimensions were about the same—so I was in a square sort of room, that could not hold my entire body if I were to try and spread it out. It only held me, curled up in this horrific position. However, this still didn't answer my questions of what sort of room it was, where it was located, and why Beyond had decided to put me in here in the first place.

And then, suddenly, out of nowhere, my questions were answered. A small, sliver of light began to glow at the bottom of the wall facing my feet. A few shadows moved across the light before stopping. If I listened closely, I could actually hear someone, or multiple someones, talking right outside the room. I attempted to yell out before remembering my predicament. There would be no yelling now.

However, the light did shed a bit of clarity on my situation. The wall facing my feet was indeed not a wall but a door—the light and the newly-revealed doorknob were enough of a giveaway for that. My metal bindings were made out of thickly wound wire, and had been tied so tightly, my skin was now bleeding raw.

The room I was in was also a closet. Above me sat several wire racks, piled high with clothing, hats, etc, etc. This explained many things; the size, the shape, the lack of light… It also hinted that, more than likely, I was still inside the original place Beyond had brought me. I sighed in relief but did not relax—I still had to get out of here, and soon.

I could vaguely hear the voices outside my little prison, speaking, although at first I could not make out exactly what they were saying.

From what I could tell, they were both men's voices… One was unfamiliar, and the other one was…

Beyond.

I closed my eyes to the dim glow and tried to hear what the voices were saying. Who was the man with Beyond? What were they talking about? Were they planning something…? Did it have to do with me… …?

I could only catch a few words at first. "Help" and "call" and "sit" and "kids."

Then, I heard Beyond say something, very clearly to the man he was with.

"May I offer you some coffee?"

Yes. Coffee. That's what I had smelled before. Coffee. Beyond had made coffee? Somehow, that didn't really seem to fit. There must have been a reason… Some sort of reason…

"Sure. I'm gonna need it for today. I have a long night ahead of me, and this prank call isn't much of a way to start it off."

"Maybe some cake, then, too?" I heard things rattling around as Beyond no doubt went to fetch the man's coffee.

"Nah. I'm tryin' a watch my weight, and cake won't help much."

"I see."

There was a silence. And the sound of dishes scraping, liquid pouring into a glass. And then, Beyond spoke.

"I'm sorry you had to drive all the way out here just to find it was all a joke. What did the girl say, again?"

"She called our emergency line. Said something about a kidnapping… Didn't give her name. As I said before, I came by with a few of my colleagues, but found the apartment the call was traced at to be completely deserted. Everything in place. Nothing out of sorts. The owner was gone, too—an old woman out to visit her family for the week."

I tried to lean my head down as far as it could go, in my position, to see outside the small crack of the door. I managed to glance at something just for a second—the man, sitting at a table, dressed all in blue. Blue. A policeman…? There was a policeman right outside this door?

A policeman. I sat back up again and shook my head. Was that really the truth? Was there really a policeman here? And was Beyond really offering him coffee and cake?

What could Beyond possibly gain by this? Unless…

He was taunting me. He had to be, I didn't see how else this could make sense. He knew I was awake and so he would taunt me with escape, right here, right now, while I was helpless to do anything. I tried opening my mouth again, to see if the effects of whatever it was Beyond had given me had worn off yet. But no. I still couldn't speak.

I was no longer scared. Or sad. Or hoping to die. I was only angry. And the best way to get my revenge would be to shove it back in his face, and break the hell out of here before the policeman could leave.

My first idea was to try pounding the door. It was possible that this could, at the very least, get the policeman's attention—but although my legs could reach the door, I wasn't quite strong enough to hit the door as hard as I needed to.

Cursing this, I turned my attention back to the wire-metal bindings. At first, it felt nearly impossible to undo them. They were wrapped on my wrists and ankles, and on my wrists and ankles only—but they were wrapped so tightly, and so well, that I wasn't sure if I could undo them, even if I did have the strength to lean forward, and the ability to wipe out the pain of doing so.

I had to try. It wasn't even a question of ability—if I didn't try, then there was no chance of my escape. And so, I reached forward, as far as I could in my uncomfortable position, and began to mess with the wires around my feet. It would be a start, if I could just undo them… Maybe then…

It didn't last more than a few moments. I gave up, quickly. Another way… There had to be another way…

My eyes flew up to the doorknob, still illuminated by the light from the crack of the door. I wondered, briefly, if my idea would work, because of the tightness of the metal wires around my wrists, but quickly decided to try it anyway. It would take all the energy I had left. But I would do it… I could do it…

Gritting my teeth once more, I began to swing up my arms, higher and higher, until I could grab hold of the doorknob. I hung on to the knob for only a moment before, in my weakened state, I came crashing back down, landing myself in an even more awkwardly tight spot.

I reached out my arms to tap against the door but couldn't get enough strength in them to knock hard enough to draw attention. Instead of knocking, then, I chose to swing my arms back up to grab hold of the knob. I placed my hands so the wires would hold to the doorknob. I then used my weight to pull downward, against the wires, in hopes of loosening them, even just a little…

I pulled and pulled and pulled, and very slowly, the ties of the bands began to come undone. After a while, and a whole lot of pulling, it was only a matter of time before I'd be able to make my escape. The pain was nearly unbearable, but… I could take it. I had to take it, after all.

Meanwhile, I caught back on to the conversation between Beyond and the policeman. I heard Beyond ask, "So, where are the rest of your companions?"

"They left," the policeman answered. "Left after we all found out it was a joke. But I was sent through to question, just in case. After all, the girl did sound pretty convincing over the phone."

"Ahhh. So. It's only you?"

"Yepppp… Just me."

Above me, my hands were beginning to slip through the wires. My plan had worked! It seemed so silly now, so improbable that it could possibly go through, but it did. Perhaps there was someone good, something good, routing for me, cheering me on. Someone, something, on my side…

My hands slipped completely through. Before I could even react, they thumped hard against the door, before hitting me right in the face. It would have been a funny moment, if not for the circumstances. The thump must have been loud enough to attract the attention of the cop, for he paused, and said, "Did you just hear something?"

Beyond paused, too. I held my breath, and looked down at my bloody hands. This was it. I was going to get out alive. I started to undo the bindings on my feet.

"No…" Still, more silence, more quiet. My breathing grew heavier, and more labored as I took my only strength left to finish what I was doing.

"I think I'm gonna go take a look—" The policeman's voice cut off. There was a loud thumping noise, like someone had dropped something heavy. I froze in shock as I waited to hear something else, but nothing followed. Absolutely nothing.

My fingers fumbled with the restraints, and I eventually managed to remove them completely. I gave a happy little giggle, as much of one as I could muster, before pulling myself up to an unsteady standing. I hadn't really thought much before over whether or not the door would be open—my thinking must have been pretty cloudy to have missed such a crucial bit of information—but I didn't care. I was so close to freedom, after so long, that I could taste it.

I turned the knob, and to my surprise and complete delight, it opened. I calmed myself down before pushing against the door, gently… I was still so weak, that I had to lean against the arch of the door to stay standing. But they would see me anyway. And I would be saved.

The door creaked open to reveal the kitchen area I had been in only a little bit before. It still looked almost completely the same—the only difference was in the absence of the blackout curtains, allowing a stream of light into the room. The light was dim, however, from dusk, and at first as my eyes adjusted to the new lighting scheme I could not make out the scene displayed before me.

Once I could see, completely, I almost collapsed from what I saw.

It was a scene of absolute horror.

There was the policeman, with dazed and drugged looking eyes, turning to see me in the doorway of the closet. And it was Beyond, holding the cutting knife for the cake, crouched behind him to jump, ready to murder the poor man right there in the flesh.

I opened my mouth to warn him. But I barely got out more than a, "wait, stop—" before Beyond made his move. He jumped on the policeman's back and began to strange him as cold and quickly as I knew possible. The policeman, who was slow from the drugs Beyond must have slipped him earlier, clumsily tried to fight back, but to no avail. Beyond slit his throat, once, cleanly, with the knife, and the policeman dropped like a rock to the ground.

I couldn't quite believe my eyes. Although I knew Beyond was a murderer, it was certainly different to see the scene played out in front of me. And to think that my chance of escape was really no chance after all made me feel sick, and sad. It seemed as if it would be impossible to beat Beyond. Completely, and indisputably, impossible. At least, in the ways that I was attempting to do so currently.

The policeman fell to the ground, blood trailing out of both his open mouth and the cut in his throat. My stomach began to turn, and I fell to the ground, heaving in nausea. Beyond's eyes flicked up to me and they weren't just black anymore—they were completely blood red, and the realization of this made me even more sick. He was something supernatural, he had to be. Whatever that man had called him in the article… the God of Death, or whatever it was, he was it.

His eyes were filled with a manic sort of bloodlust, aside from their already crimson coloring, and when he began to saunter forth, I had the dreaded feeling that he was finally ready to end my life. Yet, it was a feeling I had been experiencing often lately, so it was hard to tell whether or not my intuition was right anymore.

Beyond grabbed my tank top and hoisted me up. My feet and legs still refused to work properly, and so I began to fall down again. He lifted me up a second time, only this time, he held me by the arms and by the shoulder, before racing me down the hallway. I was whisked away so quickly I couldn't even tell which hallways we were passing through. But I do know we ended up in the master bedroom I had found, maybe, the day before.

Beyond pushed me down on the bed before leaving me alone in the room. I hadn't noticed before, but I was shaking so badly from the incident, that my entire body was one quivering mess.

I looked at my hands and down at my top. The spots where Beyond had touched me now were covered in blood from the policeman. I shuddered violently, and slouched forward. Looking up, I realized that Beyond more than likely didn't lock the door. Maybe he assumed I wouldn't try to escape after what happened.

And he was right. There was no point in trying to escape now. Beyond was too smart—whenever I thought I was one step ahead of him, he was already two steps ahead of me. I may have felt like I could match him before, on the day he first brought me here, but now, I knew it was hopeless to believe so.

Beyond returned a few moments later. He was wearing new clothing—or, rather, the same black outfit, only clean and not blood-spattered. He walked into the room, and closed the door behind him, his eyes still red, although now a more fading darker maroon than before.

I was still shaking as he sat down next to me. He placed his hand firmly on my knee to keep it still. I couldn't look up to look him in the eye; the idea of looking anywhere other than forward made me even more nauseous than I was currently. Beyond reached up and tucked a piece of stray, greasy, matted hair behind my ear.

He then wrapped his arms around my body, slowly, and the gentle gesture startled me. Not once since we'd first met had he treated me with anything close to kindness—unless you counted the bus ride, which I certainly did not. But my immediate response to his touch was to flinch away, in fear, but his arms formed a wall, keeping me trapped in his seemingly harmless embrace.

And although I knew I couldn't trust him, it felt so good, so wonderful, to be treated with such tenderness after so much time away from such a thing. I had almost forgotten what it felt like to be treated like so. It felt so good that I found myself giving in to his hold, letting him pull me in close to his chest, as tears began to run down my face.

I, still, whimpered in fear, as I whispered the question I had been asking since he first kidnapped me from the bus.

"Are you going to kill me?"

He was silent. I looked up into his eyes at that moment, his eyes that were looking off into the distance, looking off far, far away. He blinked and looked up then, before answering in the softest voice I'd heard him use yet.

"What would you do if I said yes?"

I didn't reply. I didn't say a word. I lay there, cold, like a stone in his arms. Eventually he let go of me and left the room, again, not bothering the lock the door. It was then that I gave up. I calmed my shaking body and made myself lie down on the bed. I closed my eyes and controlled my breathing as best as I could. Because, there was no point in worrying about escape if escape was virtually impossible. As I had said, had thought, before: Beyond had won. And there would be no changing that anytime soon.


	10. The Tracking

The Tracking

The night passed by as quickly as it possibly could.

The next morning, Beyond brought me a tray of food. I was somewhat surprised at this—had he given up on the starvation? When I surveyed what was on the platter, I was surprised to find some new things as well. The usual tomato and bread with jam combination was still there; but the tea was gone, and in its place, was a tall glass of fresh ice water. On the side, too, sat a beautifully red, polished apple.

I couldn't figure out if perhaps Beyond felt pity for me—why else would he be feeding me, and with extra things, as well? Or, if Beyond had a new plan in mind. I went with the latter, simply because I didn't think Beyond capable of feeling any sort of empathy or compassion, despite everything that happened the night before. Regardless of his reasons, I ate everything on the platter, save for the apple, which I left alone.

For the next few days I was a zombie. Beyond kept me inside his room, the master bedroom, and I didn't move from the bed for anything except the bathroom and food. He continued to feed me, and I continued to do absolutely nothing.

The room was a lot larger than the one I had previously been imprisoned in. The walls were decorated with a gothic sort of gray wallpaper, and the hardwood floors were hidden by dusty, antique rugs. The bed was large and covered in a thick red comforter, with silk sheets underneath. It felt like a palace compared to where I had been living for the past week or so. And had it only been a week? It felt like years since I was taken.

Beyond never came in to sleep.

I wasn't sure at first if he was sleeping somewhere else, or if he just never slept at all. It was possible that he didn't sleep; it certainly fit his strange nature, and gave reason to the dark circles under his eyes. But could one person possibly live without any sleep, whatsoever? Maybe the normal rules didn't apply to Beyond—after all, he was anything but normal.

After a few days had passed, I began to pay more attention to my surroundings. Now that I was no longer far upstairs, I could figure out most of what Beyond did downstairs, by sound and smell. I began to tell where he was during certain parts of the day; if classical music was playing, he was in the kitchen, most likely preparing my meal. If I could hear a fire crackling, he was in one of the downstairs parlor rooms, either reading in the candlelight, or plotting his next victim. If I could smell something burning, he was lighting things on fire, an unusual pastime he seemed to be picking up, perhaps out of boredom. And if I could neither hear nor smell anything at all, he was out, and I was left alone. He resumed locking the door to the master bedroom, but he did it in a careless manner. I doubted he found my escape as much of a threat as it once was.

Another few days passed and I was beginning to wonder what was in store for me. Beyond said he planned to kill me. When, though? And how? Not that I really cared much anymore. I had given up on anything, and everything. Hopes and plans. Beyond seemed to take note of this as well.

He knew he had broken me. But I was confused as to his stance on it. I did most of everything I was told to do; if he said, "stand," I would stand. If he said, "sit," I would sit. Although he seemed to take pleasure in my obedience, I could sense that it was putting him in a bad mood. I couldn't tell why, and when I wasn't spending my time staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out what he was currently up to, I was spending my time pondering that new question of why my immediate submission either bored or annoyed him.

Regardless, as time passed on, and as Beyond grew more and more into this strange temperament, he began to listen to music more and more as well. After a while, I realized it was always the same song: classical, yes, of course, but it was something specific, something that I couldn't quite place until a few days later when I recognized it as Mozart's Andante. I started to associate it with his bad moods, and with his bad moods came specific oddities as well. Such as; no food, more burning, peculiar crashing sounds, and the like. I also began to suspect that his bad mood, although connected to my obedience, moreover had to do with something else. I had no clue as to what, though, so I let it go.

I wasn't sure how much time had passed—maybe a week, or something like it—but Beyond came into the bedroom, just as the sun was beginning to set, carrying the gun in his hand.

"Up," he commanded, with a cold flick of his head. Something was different, in his stance and his body language and his eyes. I couldn't place what; it was something I had never seen before inside him.

I sat up carefully, widening my eyes, trying to guess what was coming next. Was this it? Would I die now? He narrowed his eyes and gave me a dark glare. "I mean, up. Standing. Now"

I blinked, and did as I was told. The minute my feet hit the ground, I began to lose my balance. I obviously didn't spend much time standing any more. Beyond's expression didn't change as he saw me topple to the ground. His eyes flickered with red, as he pressed his index finger to the trigger.

"Move."

I picked myself up off the ground, until I was a standing, quivering mess, right in front of him. I may have decided to quit, but I was still afraid of dying. Perhaps that, too, was why I had trouble standing.

"We're being tracked."

I blinked, again, and grabbed onto the bed post to keep myself from falling. "What?"

"We're being tracked. It's being tracked." What did he mean by "it?" The murder of the policeman? My kidnapping? He motioned to something behind him, something I had previously overlooked: my suitcase. It seemed like forever since I'd last seen it, but the suitcase itself looked exactly as it had before.

I looked down at my disgusting, smelly clothing, and thought about how good it would feel just to change. I hadn't brushed my teeth in a long time, either, or washed my face. It was gross how grimy every bit of me felt, although that was obviously the least of my worries. But I was willing to take as much comfort from personal hygiene as I possibly could. Especially if Beyond would allow it.

"We leave tonight. I'll lay out something for you to wear. You can take a shower."

"Wait a minute…" I eyed the gun before carefully sitting back down on the bed. Beyond's mind seemed to be somewhere else, though… So that's where that strange aura came from… distraction. Displacement.

"It's irritating. I wasn't expecting to have to leave until a few months from now…"

"Leave? For where?"

His gaze was filled with contempt. I could tell he was regretting something—taking me in the first place? I wondered why. He didn't seem like the type to have regrets. Beyond was acting very weird, lately… I hadn't known him for long… As a matter of fact, I really knew next to nothing about him at all. But I could tell his entire game was off. And something else, something besides the fact that he was on the brink of getting caught, was throwing him off.

He didn't answer my question. Instead, his gaze began to wander. "Your name is Leigh. Leigh Ryuzaki." Beyond threw down my suitcase and began rifling through the contents. He brought out my toiletries—toothbrush, and toothpaste, as well as shampoo, conditioner, soap, and face cleanser. He then reached into his pocket and pulled out a shiny golden wedding band. "If anyone asks, you're my wife."

"Y-y-your wife?" Where was he going with this? Where were we going to _go_? This was nothing like what I'd expected. But Beyond was unpredictable, of course. There was nothing I really could expect.

"Yes," he said. Pieces of clothing, t-shirts, jeans, skirts—everything began to go flying through the air as he continued to tear apart the contents of my suitcase. Eventually, he seemed to find what he was looking for, as he drew out a piece of silky clothing.

"And if no one asks…" He held out the pink slip to me, and the pink slip only. It's pale rose color seemed darker in the dull light of the master bedroom, but I knew in the sunlight it was brighter—brighter, and more see-through.

I took the slip from his hands. "I-I-I can't wear this! It's freezing outside, and… and…" And with only_it_ on, I would look like a hooker. A prostitute.

"You won't freeze. I'll allow you a coat."

I gulped, and nodded. Beyond seemed to return to normal for a moment, long enough for a wicked smile to spread across his face. "Go on, get ready. I expect you to take no longer than thirty minutes."

I didn't move. It was too much to process in such a short bit of time. Beyond still watched me, with that wicked strange grin. I looked down at the slip and back up at him. He was beginning to advance forward, until he was only an inch away. My breath caught in my throat. What was he doing now?

And then he leaned down and kissed me.

If you could call what that was a kiss. My mind went blank for that quick flicker of a moment. When he pulled back, he walked away, and it was as if it never happened. But I knew it had happened. My shaking hands, my quivering lips, were all proof of that.

I didn't have the time, or the energy, or any sort of ability to think about the kiss anymore. I managed to find my way to the bathroom—a big feat, in the state I was in—and I managed to wash myself without drowning in the pouring water. Although, after I while, I should have dissected the incident, thought about our leave, and the prospects of the future while I still had the chance, I didn't. Instead, I found myself realizing that it was Christmas Eve—and wondering whether or not we would have a white Christmas this year.


	11. The Silent Night

The Silent Night

We left in the dead of the night, and Beyond chose our path carefully. It was around eleven o'clock when we exited out into that alleyway from so long ago. It was strange, for I had not seen the stars since my move to Beyond's bedroom, and now, on this wintery night, I couldn't help but wonder how I possibly could have lived without them.

It was a cold night, too, and my bare legs began to freeze immediately. But Beyond was quick and I knew he wouldn't let them freeze. He didn't bother to lock the door behind him, for what was the point? There was nothing left back there, nothing at all. Beyond began to walk forward, dragging my suitcase behind him, and I stumbled to keep up, just like on that first night.

Anything left of the snow from weeks ago was gone now. I was somewhat disappointed.

When we reached the end of the alleyway, the bright lights of the city blinded my eyes. And there, in front of me, once my sight cleared up, was the Greyhound bus stop. Was that how we were leaving? I shuddered at the idea. I wanted nothing to do with any sort of bus ever again.

However, that wasn't the case. We turned a sharp right, heading instead straight for downtown Chicago.

I never had spent much time in Chicago before. And so, I wasn't quite sure where Beyond was taking me; to a train station, maybe? If he wanted to get out of the city, the fastest way to do so would probably be by train.

But instead we kept walking, right through downtown and beyond. Once we hit the edge of the city, Beyond signaled a taxi and had it take us around the entirety of the main, and back behind, to a little neighborhood in the suburbs.

Although, little was hardly the word for it. The houses in it were enormous—five times the size of my tiny home back down in Indiana. We passed quite a few before Beyond told the taxi driver to stop. We got out in front of a tall brick building, situated across from a green stretch of land and medium-sized church.

Beyond looked at the house, then back at me, contemplating. Eventually he said, "Wait here. I'll be back. I have to… retrieve something." He then ran up the walkway to the empty-looking brick building and slipped around the back.

I sighed, and wondered how long he would be. A minute passed, and then several. My legs were beginning to buckle in the wind. I turned around and looked across to where the church stood. From inside, I could hear voices, a choir, singing. I realized it would be midnight mass. It was Christmas, after all.

My mind began to wander, then, to the events of the past few hours, and the kiss from earlier. But some part of my mind rejected that incident, and I didn't blame it. There was too much going on—I couldn't concentrate or overanalyze on something like that while standing out here, in the bitter cold, waiting to be picked up by my kidnapper.

When a few more minutes passed and Beyond still didn't show, I crossed the road and began to walk towards the entrance of the church. It was a place of safety, I knew. But for some reason, it felt wrong to enter, and I stepped instead towards a small bench a few yards away from the entrance.

I sat down and tucked my legs underneath my body, reveling in the short-term warmth it allowed me, even just for a minute. And I wasn't there for longer than a second when the doors of the church opened and out walked a man, dressed all in black, into the cold without a coat.

He walked up to me and smiled, and I saw the man was around forty, maybe, with graying hair, and kind eyes. He nodded to the seat open next to me, as if to ask if he could sit there. I nodded in return, my little yes, although I knew it could get me in trouble with Beyond. At the same time, it felt like it didn't matter. I could use the company.

The man seated himself, still smiling, and began to look up into the slowly-clouding sky.

"It looks like it's about to snow," he commented.

I nodded, numbly. Perhaps I was wrong; perhaps we would have a white Christmas after all.

A few more minutes passed, before the man spoke again. "You look cold… I can help you find someplace warm…" He motioned to the church, and the houses surrounding it.

Again, it didn't feel right, so I shook my head, and said, "No, thank you. I'd like to stay out here."

The man nodded again, slowly.

Small, powdery snowflakes began to drift down from the sky. I looked up and saw that all the stars were now eclipsed. It made my heart ache, even just a little, noticing so.

A long silence passed. Eventually, the man said, "If you need any help, I'd be happy to offer my own, or perhaps someone else's."

I looked up and into those kind eyes, that kind face, before down again at my body. The man probably couldn't tell I was dressed as a prostitute. My coat covered up my body, and my body covered up my bare legs. So, if he couldn't tell I was supposed to be someone like this, then why was he offering me help? Was it really that obvious that I needed it?

To tell the truth, I didn't think once about asking this man for help. I knew there was no use in involving such an innocent bystander into the mess I'd somehow gotten into.

And so I shook my head, a sad smile gracing my lips as I whispered, "No, thank you."

The man paused and seemed to contemplate something, as he looked out towards the mansion homes. From the church, the previous song of the choir seemed to end, and in its place, took up a song I recognized. A classic Christmas song—Silent Night. It seemed so fitting for this strangely peaceful meeting.

"With nothing?" said the man. "Perhaps you have a question that requires answering, then, at the very least."

Did I have a question? A few. My mind immediately turned to earlier that day, with Beyond's kiss, and the vast confusion that followed. It was such a small thing in a heap of uglier, much bigger things, but at the same time, it oddly felt important.

"What's the different between lust and love?" It seemed like the right question to ask, pertaining to the event.

The man began to chuckle, and it brought the peaceful night even more warmth and light. "Ahh. The most frequently asked question, as I've been finding."

"Does it have an answer?"

He nodded slowly, but surely. "There are many answers to that question. And quite a few of said answers rely on one's own beliefs. How I tend to look at it, though, is…"

His voice drifted off, and he closed his eyes, and breathed out a fine mist of steam into the snowy air.

"Lust is the desire for the body." He opened his eyes, and turned back to me. "Love is the desire for the soul. Remember that, if nothing else."

I laughed, and it felt amazing. "Isn't that a quote from something?"

The man only smiled and shrugged. "Do you have any more questions?"

I shook my head and we sat there for the remaining time, enjoying that peaceful, wonderful, silent night.

But eventually, that peace had to end. I saw Beyond, finally, from far off, at first just a distant wandering blob that became more apparent as he sauntered closer. I stood up abruptly.

"Thank you," I said, "For sitting with me."

The man still only smiled. But as I turned around to leave, I heard him say: "Remember. You should never give up on anything. Nothing is more important than your life. Don't give it away. Don't give it up."

I furrowed my brow and opened my mouth to say something back. But before I could, I heard Beyond say my name, the fake name he had given me. I turned to look at him and he asked who I was talking to. When I looked back to where the man had been sitting, the bench was empty, and there was no trace of him anywhere.

"No one," I replied, and Beyond didn't bother to question me, for in that moment, a police car began to circle around the church.


	12. The Beginning

The Beginning

We slipped past the police without incident, of course. Which didn't come as much of a surprise to me, seeing as Beyond had already managed to outsmart them once before. Then again, there was his off behavior earlier in the night, his very blatant and somewhat out-of-character response to the supposed tracking. I was left wondering if it was truly the police that had frightened him earlier, or if it was something else.

Regardless, we crossed the great lawn of grass, back over to the mansion he had previously disappeared behind, him dragging me by my arms. Parked out in front of the mansion, now, was a small maroon-colored sedan, already running, with the key in the ignition. Beyond let go of my arm and grabbed the back of my jacket, pushing me into the backseat of the car, roughly, so I had to struggle to catch myself before hitting the cream-colored interior.

Beyond slammed the door shut behind him, and I was left confined to the small car. It was somewhat dirty and messy inside, littered with trash and random objects, such as the small happy meal toy on the back dashboard, and the Rubik's cube stashed in one of the seat pockets. I spotted a pine tree-shaped air freshener dangling on the rearview mirror and wrinkled my nose, wondering why Beyond had chosen this car to steal in the first place.

I turned my head back up to the ceiling, and noticed a sunroof, open and letting in a thin stream of light reflecting from the street lights onto the mass flurry of snow that came quickly piling down on the roof of the car. Both of the backdoor windows were covered in some sort of black cardstock, and so the sunroof became my easiest target. I couldn't tear my eyes off of the small flower-like crystalline structures that began to pattern the glass, ice that took shape and became more than just frozen water on the top of a car. In my somewhat delusional state, it was beautiful.

Beyond got into the front seat and put the car in reverse. I didn't get the chance to see how he evaded the cop, but it didn't really matter. I watched out the sunroof as lampposts became less and less frequent, as we no doubt traveled farther and farther away from the big city of Chicago. Funny, how the longest I'd ever spent there was during my kidnapping. Knowing I was leaving it still, however, felt strange, like it had become my home in the past few weeks.

I began to relax after a while passed, and the view outside the sunroof became hypnotic. I'd gotten the chance to warm up and simmer down and it felt nice after such as long night. It felt nice, too, to be clean for once in two weeks. My mouth clean, my skin clean, my hair clean, and in clean clothes—perhaps Beyond did have a heart after all, to grant me such a wonderful luxury. But of course, how could I even consider that, when I already knew it was part of something bigger. Part of his plan.

Right. A plan. There was always a plan, because this, all of this, was a game. One big sick game that Beyond was playing, and the rules, the costs, the goals were all being kept from me purposefully. I had been blindly thrust into this, and he knew it. He didn't expect me to play, for how could I, under these conditions?

I could. I may have given up once, lost once, but that man I had spoken to earlier—he told me to never give up, and so I wouldn't. It wouldn't be fair to him, now, and it wouldn't be fair to myself. I just needed something… A game plan…

Well, I was smart. I could figure something out. And I could escape. None of the things I'd tried before had worked—so I would have to try something different, something less along the lines of just running at the first chance I find. Perhaps Beyond had a weakness—or better yet, several. And, even more, he told me before that I had power. If I could discover what that power was and use it to my advantage… Then I could have a chance in this game Beyond was playing. Then I could outsmart him, and everything would be over, once and for all.

With these thoughts flying through my head, the car sped forward to wherever Beyond's next destination was, if he even had a set destination. Eventually, though, after maybe half an hour had passed, I felt the car turn and more lights began to shine through the sunroof, blinding me momentarily. Beyond parked the car and got out, leaving me behind.

Silence fell; the only sound piercing the tension was the soft patter of the snow, and my breathing, in and out, in and out. Barely a minute passed before the back door swung open and I jumped up in shock.

Beyond was standing there, of course. He motioned for me to follow him.

We were at a shady motel, a Super 8. It stood tall, dirty, and cheap, under a now completely clear black sky. The parking lot was deserted and most of the street lights had burned out, as if this pathetic joke of a hotel had been forgotten long before. There were no other lights, no signs of life or civilization, out on the dark horizon. It was as if someone had decided to pluck this motel down out here in the middle of nowhere, just for people like Beyond, and people like me.

Beyond had forgotten his key—the only copy—and so he dragged me in through the front to the main desk to retrieve it. Beyond must have been right, about me blending in as a prostitute. The pock-marked, greasy-haired nineteen-year-old behind the desk didn't seem at all suspicious of Beyond and I. We must have looked pretty normal, there; not out of place at all.

As a matter of fact, the man turned to me and winked, before holding out the key.

"Forget something?" he asked. Beyond nodded curtly and took the key from his hand.

His scratchy smoker's voice made me want to gag, especially when he leaned forward and said, "Call If you need some more fun up there."

Beyond's hand moved to my waist, and my queasiness only worsened, especially when I heard him say "of course," quite bluntly, in response. We left the main building and climbed up the back stairway to get to our room-it was that type of motel, the type that made you feel uncertain of your safety. I guess I had nothing to worry about, however. I was with Beyond-I couldn't really be in an anymore dangerous situation.

The door to our room was broken, and barely opened with the key Beyond had retrieved. Inside, the shaggy brown carpet looked as if it had once been a more pleasant cream, and curtains and walls seemed the same. There was a mysterious stain (and smell) over by the angry, hissing radiator—I didn't even know hotels—motels—still used radiators. There was no comforter on the bed-just sheets, with one of those awful wool throws dangling off the end. I couldn't even begin to imagine what the bathroom looked like... I had never been much of a neat freak, but I was still certainly afraid of the unknown horrors a black light would reveal in a place like this.

Beyond motioned to the bed and I sat down gingerly, using a fake smile to hide my disgust. The bed sagged when I sat down, and squeaked as I shifted my weight. I was glad that, at the very least, the sheets looked clean.

I closed my eyes and waited, as Beyond left to get my luggage from the car. My somewhat soggy coat was beginning to make me uncomfortable, and so I slipped out of it, feeling even more uncomfortable with so much of my skin revealed. The slip had been too small on me before—but now, I realized it fit me perfectly, if not being a bit loose. I must've lost a lot of weight for that to happen... But it wasn't too surprising, after the events of the past two weeks.

I turned and blushed, as the door was flung open, Beyond walking in with my backpack slung over his shoulder, and my suitcase under one arm. He threw both of the bags on the bed. It occurred to me, then, that there was only one.

"W-who…" I began to stutter, sliding a hand over the somewhat-wrinkled white sheets. I wished to say, "Who is sleeping where?" But if Beyond never slept, then I guessed it hardly mattered…

He didn't bother to ask me to finish my sentence. Instead, he began to rifle through my suitcase, as I strained to cover up my revealed body with my arms. To my relief he pulled out a white satin robe, one I'd gotten a few years back for my birthday, and handed it over.

"T-thank you," I replied, slipping it on. The fabric was cold and slick and I began to shiver under the its weight. Beyond ignored me, and slipped out the door again, without even a word to say where he'd be.

Feeling sick to my stomach, I curled up on the bed and tried not to focus on the impeding feeling of doom descending upon me. When Beyond didn't return within the next fifteen minutes, I decided he would be out for a while, and began to think about the game plan. Everything I was considering earlier…

My mind going miles a minute, I began to search through the nightstand, the desk… Everywhere there might be some sort of writing device, or pad of paper. I eventually found one in the dresser, of all places. I took it out and took out a matchbook, too, so I could destroy all evidence once I finished. Heaven help me if Beyond discovered I was planning to escape… again.

First, I decided to go over my setting. Was there anything around me that could be used as a weapon, if need be? There was a lamp, a telephone, a Bible… Okay. Maybe I shouldn't use the Bible, but the lamp could work, assuming I could get it unplugged in time. There was also the possibility of using a curtain rod, as I had back in the old prison, but… No, no, what was I doing? This wouldn't work… Coming up with different weapons, trying to use different weapons, was no way to defeat Beyond. I'd already learned the much; or, at the very least, I'd learned that simple hit and run wouldn't work.

I would have to use my brain. I knew that much. I understood that. But how could I come up with something to defeat this man? I had thought about this once before, when he asked if I thought I was smarter than him.

Street smarts vs. book smarts. That's what this would come down to, in the end. But I was willing to break the barrier between the two. Street smarts… Book smarts… It wouldn't matter. Whoever the most intelligent was, in the end, would prevail, and whichever type it was wouldn't matter. The time had come for me to rise up to this challenge, and to play this game. And the time had come for me show I had what it takes to win.

With that, I tossed the pen and paper aside and picked up the phone. Maybe I couldn't think out a full-fledged plan in the short time it would take for Beyond to do… whatever it was he was doing. But I could, at the very least, accomplish_ something_.

I hit the zero button and waited for the man at the front desk to pick up.

"Front desk," If at all possible, the man's voice sounded even more terrible over the crackly phone line. I cleared my throat.

"Yes, this is Ms… Ryuzaki, from Room A12? I was wondering if you could pick up a letter."

"What, too lazy to drop it off down here?" He mumbled, annoyed.

I rolled my eyes at his idiocy. "Please? I can't come down at the moment." And it was true. If Beyond came back, and I wasn't in the room, I didn't really know what would happen.

"Hmm… fine. Maybe if you could supply some sort of… incentive?"

I winced at the suggestion in his voice. "I'll see you in no more than five minutes."

Wow, wherever that assertiveness came from, I wasn't sure. I had never been assertive in my entire life. I guess life-threatening, if not life-stunning, situations really brought out the best in someone… The best, and the worst.

I hung up the phone and picked back up the pen and paper. This had to be quick. I went through different possibilities, what I wanted to say, who I wanted to send it to… Well, my parents, obviously. The police had so far proved incompetent in this situation, or else I would have already called them up. And my mother… Well, I didn't want to get her directly involved. I figured an obscure letter would do the trick, just to tip her (and whatever investigators she had working) off as to where I am, what happened, who kidnapped me, etc, etc.

Eventually, I came up with:

"Mom, I was taken at the bus stop, by a man calling himself Beyond Birthday. He took me to a deserted building and kept me there. He killed a policeman. Then we left, and now we're in a motel somewhere outside of Chicago. I don't know in what direction. I don't know what he plans to do next. Please don't try to do anything yourself… Love, Your Daughter."

I considered writing one for my dad, too, but I knew he would be contacted by my mom after she received it. I was just about to make a makeshift envelope when I heard someone at the door.

"Hello?" I said, in response to the noise. Was it the man from the desk? Or… No, it couldn't be…

The door flung open and in walked Beyond. I jumped up, guiltily, and clutched the pen and the paper in my hand, trying to hide both. He didn't seem too suspicious—he came over to the bed, and distractedly threw a convenience store bag on the sheets. Out toppled several jars of strawberry jam, two boxes of plain sugar, and a canister of tea.

When he exited to the bathroom, to fill a cup up with water, I ripped the pieces of paper I needed out of the notepad and stashed both it and the pen in the nightstand. I then slipped the used paper under the bed. My heart was beating miles a minute, by the time Beyond came back in with his water.

He smirked at my nervous face. "Expecting someone else?"

I shook my head no, but then I realized… the man from the desk! He was coming here! I was certain to be caught then. I began to shake in nerves, my mind not even able to comprehend what would happen to me once I was caught. How could I have been so stupid? How could I even expect to beat Beyond, with me making thoughtless mistakes like that?

I put my head in my hands in anticipation. Out of the holes between my fingers, I saw Beyond stare at me thoughtfully, strangely. What a sight I must have been.

He sat down on the bed, uncomfortably close, especially with my current outfitting being nothing more than lingerie. He grabbed one of the sugar boxes and began to empty packets of sugar into his glass of water, until the water itself appeared more like milk than anything else. He gulped it down and offered me a sip, to which I declined.

Once he was done, he threw the glass aside, and turned to stare at me. His gaze, penetrating as he no doubt tried to discover what I was so worried about, seemed to snake up and down my body. I tightened my robe awkwardly.

Beyond looked as if he were about to do something—say something—when I heard it.

The beginning of pain.

The beginning of punishment.

Possibly, even, the beginning of the end of my life.

And I'm not entirely sure what came over me; I must have panicked, really. There was no way I would have done what I did otherwise. For as his attention turned to the door, I jumped up, leaned down, took his head in my hands, and kissed him—and I, above all else, made sure to pretend to enjoy it.


	13. The Attraction

The Attraction

Kissing Beyond felt somewhat like kissing a giant, ferocious grizzly bear. The only difference being, of course, that Beyond was not a grizzly bear. He was much, much more dangerous.

When my lips had first made contact, Beyond jumped back in surprise. I don't blame him—I nearly did the same thing, although that was probably more instinct that complete and utter shock. But don't get me wrong, I was pretty shocked with myself too. It took everything I had to not detract and run away as quickly as possible.

But after Beyond had recovered from his initial moment of disbelief, he seemed to push forward with a drive and a passion much greater than anyone I'd ever kissed before. Yeah, I'd only kissed two people back at home—the bland and average Cam Hughes, and the equally (if not more) bland and average Clyde Fischer. But I'd seen movies, too, and the way Beyond was reacting was a hundred times more fervent than the most lustful of those on the big screen.

I quickly realized I wouldn't have to pretend to enjoy it—there was a part of me, deep inside, very twisted and very sick, that did all on its own.

I couldn't say how or why or even when these feelings started to overcome me, that I realized I didn't wish to pull away, that this was something actually terrifying and exciting and amazing and horrible and addictive all at once. It pulled me under, as if before I had only been floating on the surface, distracted by my own danger, and now, slowly, I was sinking down into the depths of the unknown.

At the same time that my heart was beating wildly for his touch, my stomach was churning with nausea. Or maybe butterflies. It was so hard to tell what was what, with all my feelings and emotions colliding together, exploding all at once. Although the fear, terror, and nausea were nothing new, I discovered something I wasn't exactly all too happy about: I was attracted to him. Very, very attracted to him.

What the hell was wrong with me? The discovery was more horrifying than even the fact that I was kissing Beyond at that very moment. But it was the only explanation I had for what I felt. Kissing Cam and Clyde was nothing like this. I felt nothing when I kissed them. No butterflies, no fireworks… Nothing. And I believe it's pretty safe to say that the reason I was un-attracted to them was _because_ of their boring, bland averageness.

So, what? Does that mean I was only into the bad guys? No commonplace hero for me—only the villain?

It didn't take long, with so many thoughts and emotions running through my brain and body, for me to quickly develop a severe headache, and in the very middle of my life-saving kiss-turned-heavy make out session with Beyond. Of course! The reason I had seduced him in the first place—as a distraction. With this reminder, I opened my eyes.

Oops. Bad idea. As I did, my head seemed to clear, and my headache disappeared in favor of lightheadedness, instead. I suddenly became very aware of how close I was to Beyond, and where, exactly, his hands were on my body. I felt like fainting but I needed to stay focused. My life. This was my life here. I couldn't let such a strange, lust-filled attraction get in the way of saving myself.

Ignoring the burning of my neck, spine, legs—wherever his hands touched—and the sound of heavy breathing, I listened, very carefully. There was no more knocking at the door. If I had to guess, the man from downstairs was gone, tired of waiting.

With this realization, I felt that worry float away, although it left behind a whole hoard of others. However, it was something.

Although there was still the sick, twisted part of me that wanted to stay locked in this embrace with Beyond, there was the more reasonable part that stood, greater still, and made me retract from the kiss.

But in order to do so, I had to push him. Hard. He just barely loosened his grip, and as he opened his eyes, I could see that—although glazed over—they still held the same intensely frightening look as they always had. Black as the night sky, they also held a bit of question. But he didn't speak, and I took the opportunity to rip myself away from his grasp and run to the bathroom, where I locked myself inside.

As I stood there gasping, still with a million things waiting to run through my mind, I was struck at first with how nice the bathroom was, compared to the rest of the hotel. I took my time to admire the very clean, very white tiles that ran along the ground and inside the shower. The counters looked brand new, and the shower curtain, to my pleasant surprise, was not covered in mysterious stains as the rest of our hotel room seemed to be.

It seemed silly to be thinking such things, while still caught in such a situation. But really—it was nice to forget that the only reason I was even in this bathroom in the first place was because I had just made out with my creepy, terrifying, grizzly-bear-like captor, in order to save myself from (un)certain death and/or serious physical/mental harm.

It also felt good to appreciate the little things. Like having a clean bathroom after a really, really crappy day. Or week. Or, well… Month.

After a moment's contemplation I eventually decided to mull things over in the shower. Since I had yet to hear Beyond come pounding at the door, I came to the conclusion that he would leave me alone, at least for a little bit. I needed a shower, too, desperately—I could still feel his hands on me, electrocuting me, although the feeling still managed to give me goose bumps, in the insanely non-pleasant way.

The rush of heat felt wonderful. I washed away all the grime from the day, from the city, from the room. All the dirtiness his touch seemed to leave, and all the sweat from the heat and movement of that undefined time. I hoped, too, that the sick bit of me that felt so sexually attracted to him would was down the drain as well. I tried to imagine that happening, but it was harder. That attraction was on the inside of me—while the grit and filth and feel were on the outside. I needed to focus. I needed to push these feelings away, deal with them another time. I was in trouble. I had more important things to worry about.

My mind turned to my failed letter attempt. Again, thwarted by Beyond, even if indirectly. But I felt like I was on the right track. I was getting closer. The game was still on, and I would play.

So what would my next move be? As I thought about this, the water began to run cold. I shut it off, grabbed a towel, and stepped out of the shower. With nothing more to wear than what I had on before, I quickly dressed and ran my fingers through my hair. Ta-da! If it weren't for the dark circles under my eyes, slowly-growing-emaciated body, slutty clothing, and dirty robe, I could be a celebrity.

Just then, I heard a loud _ka-thunk_, as Beyond no doubt began to knock on the bathroom door, hard. Something about the noise made me panic—it reminded me of back when I was hiding in the kitchenette closet, of that tiny apartment back in Chicago.

I was filled with a slightly irrational need to run but had nowhere to run to. My heart started beating quickly. I heard him hit the door several more times, but I couldn't make myself open it. As the pounding escalated, I, as a last-minute resort, jumped into the shower and crouched down behind the shower curtain. Looking back, it was of course a silly thought—that I could keep myself safe by hiding in a shower.

See, humans are like that. They crave the idea of safety, when safety itself becomes impossible. Just the feeling that maybe, just maybe, everything would turn out okay, becomes enough to keep a human going—even if that feeling is completely false.

Instead of facing what was outside that door, I decided to enjoy my last few moments, stooped in that little hideaway. The bear would get to me eventually. But I took comfort in the delusion that with hiding in my tiny cave, I still held a chance.


	14. The Strength and the Weakness

The Strength and the Weakness

I don't know how, or why, the idea came to me. I mean, obviously, it was the result of the events from the past several hours, but still. My idea wasn't… right. Wasn't clean, wasn't moral. Wasn't me.

But all's fair in love and war, and to tell the truth, I was ready to stoop down as low as possible to get to where I needed to be—free. If it meant moral corruption, fine. I could play dirty; it was the only thing I'd yet to try.

My brain began to fire up, wheels turning, mind buzzing, as I concocted the details of my plan. It was strange, going from emotionally overloaded, to panicked, to maniacal, all within one hour. I was still sitting in fetal position on the floor of the shower when I started to think up the plan, and although I still screamed when the door flew open and Beyond rushed in to tear open the shower curtain, there was still a bit of hope—a bit of confidence, even—hiding away inside my stomach. Hope and confidence for what was about to put in place.

What worried me was the other thing I felt churning in my stomach—the thing that seemed to intensify by the hundreds, as Beyond came ever closer. He grabbed me by the wrists and pulled me up so I was standing.

How sickening was it, that I could feel both attraction and terror at his touch? If my plan was to work, these feelings would have to go. For good. They would only complicate the matter, make things harder, and worse than necessary. And it was already going to be very complicated, and very hard.

Of course, I knew things wouldn't be as easy as saying _one, two, three_ and throwing my emotions out the window. But I could bottle them up, for now, and try not to let them out—or, at the very least, try to forget about them.

It was really only lust after all. I didn't_love_ him—he was a menacing, handsome, insane, dangerous, monstrous psychopath, who I knew nearly nothing about. And the lust was simply a product of my screwed-up head—more than likely a result of the traumatic experiences I'd been through in the past month.

But I should feel thankful for lust—happy because of it. Beyond did not have the capability to feel love, I'd figured that out already. But he could feel lust, obviously. And he could tell if I had similar feelings as well. It was this lust, this desire for the body, that I decided to use against him.

Seducing Beyond—what a lovely thought.

Although, really, seducing _him_ wasn't necessarily my goal, but making him feel as if he'd seduced _me_. Allow him to believe he had me in the palm of his hand, and that I would do anything for him, feel anything for him.

Meanwhile, I would use this as a way to get inside his head, his thoughts, his mind—I would use it to grow a deeper understanding of who he was, how he worked… And, eventually, take him down from the inside. The ultimate espionage. And when he least expected it, I would make my exit… whether that involved an injury to him, or not.

Who knew where this could lead, in the end? Only to something good. Something a lot like the freedom I greatly yearned for.

Beyond led me, still by the wrists, into the main bedroom. The curtains were closed, but I could still see a small sliver of light peak out from beneath them as the sun no doubt was beginning to rise. It then crossed my mind exactly how tired I felt.

All my planning, all my thinking, ceased. I laid down on the bed, forgetting too about the fact that there was only one. I closed my eyes and oh, how good it felt. Giving in to my exhaustion, letting it take over me, felt amazing. I could have sworn, too, that I felt the wool blanket from the foot of the bed being draped over my body, by an obscure and towering figure. But maybe I pulled it up on my own. I was much too tired to remember.

When I woke up, I couldn't tell whether it was morning still, afternoon, evening, or night. I had no idea how long I'd slept. The standard alarm clock that had once sat by the bed was now unplugged and lying on the ground. The curtains had been taped to the windows, so (if it was daytime) no light could filter in. Beyond certainly liked his duct tape.

I figured the easiest way to find out the time was to turn on the tv. But that was unplugged, too, from both the electrical socket and the cable box. I wasn't really in the mood for messing around with wires, or Beyond's temperament, so I decided against plugging it back in.

Speaking of Beyond, where was he?

He was gone again, completely from the room. I relaxed a bit and spread out on the bed. From the looks of it, he had been sleeping there, too. I shuddered, a bit from disgust, and a bit from that sick, unexplainable excitement.

My clothes were dirty—or, well, if you could call what I wore clothes. I decided to dress in something different. Why not? My bag was lying right next to the bed, and had all the things I'd brought with me on my trip in.

I found clean underwear, a clean t-shirt, and clean pants. Boring, boring, boring. Back at school, my… acquaintances, if you could call them that, were not particularly into fashion. Or, if they were, they had a good reason for it. Such as if it were a day for cosplay, for example. I wasn't much of a cosplay person myself, but I knew a few people who were. Especially around Halloween and anime conventions. A lot of people dressed up on Halloween, surprisingly. Even the juniors and seniors.

But what I found had become more and more frequent was the subject of detective work. It was like when I was a little kid, and everyone wanted to dress up as a superhero from their favorite comics. Only now, people were choosing not characters from graphic novels, but real-life people who they felt were more of a superhero than Batman or the Flash could ever be.

And the real-life people they chose to dress up as just happened to be detectives.

Who knows when this big detective craze first began. It could have been after an unsolved bank robbery mystery (the biggest excitement our county had seen in decades) brought a public detective from Indianapolis to our tiny southern Indiana town. It could have been when Robert Heishman gave a report in eighth grade about the FBI, and Special Forces, and pretty much how badly he wanted a job in the field, during our second-period US History class.

But more likely, when the three biggest detectives of the world seemed to merge into existence, from what seemed like out of nowhere—that's probably when people started going gaga over the whole detective thing.

And who knows why we did? Our town seemed like pretty much the only one obsessed with the Big Three. Then again, we were a pretty weird town.

But I guess our obsession with superheroes seemed to evolve. Our Spiderman costumes became dark suits and trench coats—seeing as no one really knew what these detectives looked like, they decided to go with the standard: whatever was shown in the movies.

Often times, to distinguish which detective they were trying to be, my peers' costumes would have name tags attached, reading "Eraldo Coil," or "Danuve." This seemed silly to me. I really doubted the real-life Eraldo Coil or Danuve wore nametags. They were armchair detectives—sitting at home, drinking coffee, watching TV while solving mysteries through the phone. Definitely not the romanticized trench-coat-wearing hunks everyone seemed to make them out to be.

I never really was as detective-crazy as the rest of my town, but there was still one detective I admired, and—I'll admit—went a little bit crazy about. Simply because he was nearly impossible to ignore.

L.

The number one detective in the world. He _did_ interest me. How could he not? He interested everyone.

I practically studied and researched him for months. I was fascinated by everything about him—well, rather, everything I knew _of_ him. Being an anonymous hidden detective meant no one knew much about him, aside from what one heard through the grapevine. But his deductive skills—they amazed me. During my ninth grade year, I wanted to be just like him. Grow up to become and to replace L, steal his name, and take my rightful place at the top. But although I was intelligent—or believed myself to be, anyway—I knew his mind, among many others, was far superior to my own. He and the rest of the high IQ population would have to die out before I became the new L.

Over time our town grew to have issues, and impossible hopes and dreams, such as L becoming interested in a case in our area and visiting—despite the fact that the only cases we really had to offer were of missing dogs and convenience store hold-ups, and rumor had it that the only cases L worked on were cases either worth one million dollars, or cases that interested him

Despite these issues, though, our strange little town sort of died down a bit about detectives. I wondered if all the residents were glued to their TV sets, hoping to see if now that they had a real kidnapping on their hands, they could get L to become involved with our community. Of course, leave it to the people I know—or once knew, anyway—to see my being taken as a good thing rather than a bad. I could see it now, the headlines in the local paper: not "Girl Goes Missing, the Tragedy!" but "Girl Goes Missing, Will L Get Involved?"

Like I was worth a million dollars, or interesting to him. I was only one of the trillions of cases he had lined up, in his house, wherever the hell it was he lived. Although, if anyone could beat Beyond, it was L. And if anyone could stand a chance against L, it was Beyond. If L was smart enough, Beyond was crazy enough. But if the stories I'd heard about L were true, than perhaps he was just as crazy, too.

But no… there was only one person, here and now, that could save me. And that was me. I reminded myself of this, as I finished dressing. _I_ can only save me. _I will take that chance no matter what…_

And speak of the devil. At that moment, Beyond entered the motel room.

_SWOOSH._ A huge wave of conflicting emotions washed over me. He had barely been in my sight for longer than a second, and already I felt like vomiting.

He walked towards me, with an unreadable expression on his face.

"Apple?"

He held up the red fruit, as I let out my breath. I hadn't even realized I was even holding my breath.

"Yes," I said, only because I was afraid of saying no to Beyond. I took it but I wasn't hungry; I was too nauseous to eat. When he wasn't looking, I stashed it back in the bag, with the rest of my clothes.

Soon, we both quieted down. And I guess you could say things got awkward quickly. He sat on the bed, I sat on the floor. The prisoner and the guard. It seemed like the first time in a while that he wasn't A) dragging me somewhere, B) threatening to kill me, or C) actually trying to kill me.

It seemed like the perfect time to put my plan in motion, but nerves made me put it off. It wouldn't go over well if, when seducing him, I actually threw up. No—probably not well at all.

In the silence, however, I felt like something should be said. He was simply just staring at me—with that creepy, penetrating glare. Wanting to fill the silence, I timidly and carefully spoke.

"Are we going to move again soon?"

For some reason, this question seemed to annoy him. He stood up and turned around, but not before I saw his eyes narrow.

"We'll stay here as long as we need to. Until… they find us."

This confused me, as much as the incident with the so-called "tracking" did. He showed an unusual attitude towards the situation. Even though I knew better than to question it, I found myself saying,

"You were acting… strange, back in Chicago... Why?"

His annoyance seemed to grow. However, I was too curious to stop. I wanted to know. I _needed_ to know. Something told me that this was important.

"Is there something else going on?"

His fists clenched.

"I would be more worried about your own well-being, than about what is going on outside of you and me?"

Something about his voice, and his clenched fists, did something strange to me. It frightened me, yes, but it also sparked a small flame of rebellion unusual for me. Anger, over everything, the entire situation.

Before I could stop myself, I was talking back.

"You're the one who said I had more power than I initially believed—"

Before I knew it, he was over me. He pushed me backwards and slapped me across the face. Hard.

Face stinging red, and eyes stinging from tears, I cowered as much away from him as I could while pressed against the floor. Whatever rebellion was in me had ceased existence, at least for the moment. I was afraid. Very afraid. Fear traveled through every bit of my body, gripping my mind, my heart, my soul. I was so terrified I could barely breathe or see.

Beyond leaned back a bit, instead choosing to press his fingers around my neck, like he was choking me.

"I believe I've been giving you a bit more freedom than you deserve," he hissed. I trembled under his hold.

"In a way, I pity you. You don't understand my plans, you don't understand _anything_. And if I have my way, you won't ever understand. I offered to let you in. I offered to let you in because I believed you could be more useful and of more service to me. But you can't. No, you can't. Because you're much too stupid, much too _weak_ to be of any help to me."

He laughed then. A laugh that was loud and unearthly, that reminded me of just how insane he was. Just how crazy he could be.

"But oh, even without helping me directly, you are. Indirectly. What's going on right now, what you so desperately ask about, wonder about—if it gives you pleasure, gives you satisfaction, I will tell you this much: it all has to do with you, the reason we left Chicago so soon. I hadn't been planning to leave for months. But oh no. You had to go and _screw it up_!"

He yelled the last few words, while tightening his hold on me. Any more tighter, and I would lose my ability to breathe completely.

"Oh, and let's not forget this little strength you mention. That _I_ mentioned once." He laughed again, and pressed his knee to my collar bone. "Well, it's about as much a strength as it is a weakness. Would you like to know that too?"

I opened my mouth in an attempt to get more air. He must have taken this as a yes, however.

"Guess what? It's your lucky day. Because I'll tell you what your 'strength' is."

There was a pause. He was breathing heavily above me, eyes wide and flashing red. They moved slowly, from looking straight at my face, to looking at the spot just a little bit over my head.

"I can't kill you."

My mind reeled. _What?_ It didn't make any sense, what he just said. Nothing made any sense. And with my loss of air, I could hardly think.

I must have looked confused though, because he laughed.

"Don't believe me? There's something you don't know about me, my dear. Something about my eyes, that always seem to tell the truth. And the truth is staring right at me: your death date. Something that won't ever change for you. No matter how much I wish it."

He released me then. I coughed, gasping, trying to get as much air into my system as possible. He didn't get off me, though. Instead he reached into his back pocket and drew out that switchblade again. Reaching out to my face, he drew a thin line from the corner of my eye, down to the bottom of my chin, all the way across my cheek.

I flinched in pain. He only smirked, happy with his work.

"Don't let that fool you into thinking you can escape me easier. Like I said: it's a weakness, too. I can't kill you… But that doesn't stop me from harming you to the point of near-death."

My body was completely still. He was only staring at me now, waiting for a reaction.

It was obvious that he was crazy… It's not possible at all that he could know my day of death, just by looking at me. And yet… Some weird part of me—probably the same sick part that was attracted to him—believed him completely.

I had one last question, though. One that refused to let go, and seemed important, whether what he was saying was a delusional lie or not.

"W-when is my death day, then?"

His smile grew so large, it made me cringe. He drew one finger out, and ran it along my face, picking up the blood that fell. He then placed the finger in his mouth and sucked on it. It didn't help my nausea, what he was doing. It didn't help my nausea either when he closed his eyes in pleasure, enjoying it as much as he could.

Then he said it. Beyond said it. The date. When I was doomed to die, or so it would seem. And I couldn't remember anything that happened afterwards, because I passed out completely. But I wouldn't forget that date. No—that looming, haunting date. The words said by Beyond that would stick in my mind for eternity.

"August twenty-second, this coming year."


	15. The Time Limit

The Time Limit

So, I guess I had been doing a lot of passing out lately, whether from Beyond's near-constant terrorizing or from something else.

But when this time came around, it was somewhat different. Because I didn't open my eyes to the motel room. I opened my eyes to a hospital.

Only it didn't really look like a normal hospital—everything was either silver colored, or a plastic sort of white. The entire place was empty, as far as I could tell. And when I tried to sit up, I realized I couldn't: three long black straps kept me held against a gurney. Like I was a mental patient with a dangerous plan for escape.

I heard whistling, then. It sounded a lot like the bus driver's whistling, when I was on the greyhound. It made me flinch, if flinching was at all possible from where I was trapped.

Then came the footsteps. Light and familiar, quick and sly. I recognized them immediately. It seemed somewhat odd to me that I could now identify Beyond through simple things like this; he never seemed much like the whistling type, though.

I heard a door swing open, and soon enough, he was standing over me. He was dressed in his normal clothing, but there was a mask across his face, like the type a nurse or doctor would use during an operation. I squirmed, as anyone would, when he began to push the gurney. I tried to speak, but it was hard, and when I finally managed a few words out, all I could say was,

"What are you doing?"

My voice was soft, weak, and scratchy. I took a deep breath and it rattled inside my chest. He pushed the gurney out of the room I had been in, and into a long corridor, with the same sterile look as what I assumed the rest of the hospital looked like.

"What do you think I'm doing?" he asked, with a cunning grin.

Dizzily, I managed to lift my head a few inches into the air—enough to catch a glance of a small, lit-up sign at the top of a second entryway.

I could see Beyond smile, despite his mask, down at me as I read the words on the sing.

"The morgue."

I couldn't help it, I started to struggle. Each of the bands was tied so tightly, they cut into my skin as I began to flail about. But I couldn't stop. No. No, it couldn't be.

"Relax. We'll be there soon." His eyes would seem kindly to anyone else, but to me, right then, I recognized the horrible truth beneath them.

I opened my mouth as far as it would go and screamed. Beyond twisted around, so he was pulling the gurney by its end, far away from my screeching head. Somehow, I managed to break the top strap. My arms came out and I tried to fight against the others as well. With no rational thought in my head, I didn't once think to stop and undo the straps myself.

I was thrashing wildly, screaming at the top of my lungs, hoping that someone, anyone, would hear me. But I saw the black doors of the morgue we were heading to, and Beyond's terrible face in front of them.

"NO! STOP!"

He did stop, right in front of the doors. He removed his mask before speaking once more.

"There's no use in fighting it, my dear." Slowly, he backed up. The black doors opened to a dark void beyond them. "As far as I'm concerned, you're already dead."

With a gasp, I sat up in bed. The motel room was quiet, but Beyond was there this time. He sat at the desk near the covered windows, writing. Heart beating quickly from the dream I just had, it took me a moment to settle down and realize I wasn't on a gurney, about to be pushed to my death. Well… at least the "not being on a gurney" part was true.

Beyond noticed right away that I was up. Without looking over, he said, "There's food in the bag."

I looked over and saw a small brown paper back, down by the edge of the bed. I leaned forward to grab at it, but was held back immediately. Looking over, I saw the source of the detainment.

Handcuffs. With an extended chain, connecting from my wrist to the headboard of the bed.

My heart skipped a beat. Had I gone backwards? From just a day or so ago, when he left me alone in the motel room, to now, when he could barely trust me with his back turned?

I thought of my plan. Seduce him, gain his trust, trick him… None of that would work if I was chained up all the time.

It had to have something to do with my "out-of-line" behavior… I thought of his words, when he said, _I believe I've been giving you a bit more freedom than you deserve._

And then I thought of his other words that came soon after that.

_August twenty-second, this coming year._ _August twenty-second, this coming year._ _August twenty-second, this coming year._

Was that really true? I didn't know… But the piece of me that believed in his words was growing in size, overtaking my mind and body. I wasn't quite sure what made me believe him, but… nevertheless, I did.

Beyond pushed up then from his seat, and walked over to where I still sat on the bed. Although I did cringe a little, I wasn't as frightened as, say, before when he attacked me. I had come to learn when to fear him most, when he was at his worst temper. There was no pattern to it, but at least in those last few seconds, before he could reach me, at the very least I'd be able to prepare myself for whatever was about to come.

This time, I knew he had no malicious intentions. And I was correct. He did not hold a knife or a gun in his hand; only a pencil and a piece of loose-leaf paper, covered in what looked to be at first a grid.

"This is for you. I want you to try it."

I blinked, confused at his request. He handed me the paper and I looked it over, squinting at the lines, and the words at the bottom of the page.

"A crossword puzzle?" I asked, brow furrowed. Beyond didn't bother answering. He simply turned around and left the room entirely, leaving me alone with the pencil and the paper.

Still somewhat befuddled, I read over the puzzles.

"Holy crap," I muttered, only a few moments later. I couldn't solve anything.

I couldn't do _anything_.

It was hard to even explain what the puzzles _were_. They were almost like riddles, really; brainteasers, as my teachers back home would call them. Except these looked more like they were meant to explode your brain, not tease it.

By the time Beyond had returned, I'd managed to only finish ten, and even then, I wasn't sure if they were right. Beyond took one look at the paper before crumbling it up.

"Not good enough," he said. I blinked, again confused.

"What… What do you mean?"

"I'll need to redo it."

He offered no other explanation for his actions. He only sat back down at the desk, with the pencil and some more paper, and began to write again. I blinked once more.

_Well, alright then._

I took a deep breath and leaned back against the headboard of my bed, resting my cuffed hand as I did. Up above me, the dirty, cracked ceiling seemed to be forming patterns. It probably wasn't safe for a ceiling to be that screwed up, but whatever. It probably wasn't safe to be in a motel room with a killer.

But whatever.

It was time to go back to the drawing board. Figure out how to adjust my plan to the news, and to his new distrust of me. Many thoughts began going through my head, such as,

_God, what am I going to do? What does this mean? Should I believe him? Should I not? If I am going to die, why should I bother fighting him? Why should I bother trying to escape? But what if this is all a trick, to discourage me from trying anything funny?_

I groaned inwardly, and began rubbing my temples. _Why am I being forced to think so hard?_

If Beyond took notice of my obvious discomfort and frustration, he didn't show it. Probably for the best.

Well, one thing was for sure, and it was that I had to stay thinking rationally. If I let myself get carried away with worry or fear, I'd have no hope left. And with no hope, I wouldn't stand a chance. Beyond would win, and that would be that.

I certainly didn't want him to win.

Okay, so, assuming that Beyond _did_ possess otherworldly powers, and assuming I _was_ going to die in eight months… Well, what exactly could I do about it? If I were to escape from him, would I still die? Was I programmed from the beginning to have this fate, to be kidnapped and eventually killed by some psychotic maniac who could see when people die? Hmph. If so, I certainly got the short of the life stick.

It was hard to imagine, so early in my life, that I could possibly have such a time limit. You don't think about your death being close until you're eight-five, and in a wheelchair. I was sixteen. I only kissed three guys, one of which was… Well, did I really need to describe Beyond again?

But anyway, if it wasn't planned to be just by him, then I didn't stand a chance no matter what happened. That being said, I still wanted to get out of here. No need to stick around and see if Beyond was going to fulfill this prophecy himself.

And so, I turned back to my worries about the plan.

Seduction. Just the word brought back my heated encounter with Beyond. My stomach started tingling, but just as fast as it started, I made it stop. My sick side was going to have to take a hike for now. Out the window, you go.

Hmmm. Since when did I start talking to my feelings? Well, I guess three or four weeks of solitary confinement with a nut filled with bloodlust will do that to you.

But back to the main point, how was this going to work? I didn't really put much thought into it before, I guess now was as good a time as any other. This plan would be hard, but then again, any plan to outsmart Beyond would be hard. This was actually one of the easier ones.

That is, if you discounted the whole "who knows what the hell I'd have to do with Beyond in order to seduce him" thing.

But my overall goal, again, was to "gain his trust"… Although it sounded somewhat impossible, I wanted him to view me as a partner, completely under his control. And then, when he least expected it…

What? What would I do? Run away, put my family in danger? Call the police, like that worked out so well last time?

Kill him?

…_Could_ I kill a person? I never really considered it. But if getting closer to Beyond ever gave me the opportunity to turn on him like that… Would I take it?

…_I will take that chance no matter what…_

All of this deep thinking had me feeling nauseous again. I had begun to develop a harsh pain in my stomach that caused it to clench and never truly went away. Maybe I was starting to get an ulcer. Oh, what a pleasant thought on top of everything else.

I tried to limit my thinking then to something a bit more… foreseeable. Like what I was going to do to get out of these handcuffs, and back on Beyond's good side. Like the first move I would make… the first try at showing him a growing devotion inside of me.

I could kiss him again. I could go further than kissing…

But I could barely even think about that, right now. How about I just stayed with kissing. And whatever happened afterward… would happen.

What else could I do?

Obey him. Not talk back. Not talk at all. Act exactly as he wanted me to act.

But it was hard, when I had so many different questions. I still did not even know the true purpose of why he had kidnapped me, the real reason I was here—let alone something small, like the type of torture device he planned to use to kill me.

Well, if I had to go through this blind… Then so be it. I would.

"Here."

Beyond's voice snapped me out of my reverie. He held out another crossword puzzle, which I took timidly.

"Try as hard as you can," he said, simply.

Thinking about my plan, I nodded obediently, but he only tilted his head to the side, in a disturbing, inquiring sort of way.

"You don't seem at all worried after yesterday's… encounter." He grinned cruelly. I gulped, the paper shaking somewhat in my hands.

"I guess I've… accepted it."

Not totally true. I still didn't know if I believed him or not.

As if he could read my mind, see the lie behind my words, he looked down at me, still with that sly, cruel smile on his sly, cruel face.

"Perhaps I should give you proof."

My heart rate quickened, my body stiffened up. _Proof?_ What did he mean by_proof_?

His hand dipped inside his pocket and drew back out the old switchblade. It was still covered in my blood from before. Absent mindedly, I touched the cut on my face, which still stung slightly as my fingertips grazed it.

Oh god… Was he going to hurt me again? He didn't need to beat me up, didn't need to cause me pain to prove a point. But a man like him… Well, he was sadistic. He enjoyed causing others pain. It was as pleasurable to him as no doubt a kiss was to any other person. Maybe even more so.

But instead of coming towards me, he backed away. I looked at him, confused, until I saw him twist his arm around.

I gasped.

"NO, DON—"

With a flash, he released the knife. It came zooming towards me, towards my heart, where it was sure to impale and kill me. I had no time to think. No time to scream. Only enough time to just barely put my hands up in a futile attempt to protect myself.

But that was not necessary. Not necessary at all. Because in that moment, the ceiling fell.


	16. The Hatred

The Hatred

My screams echoed inside the room as the bits of plaster fell, piece by piece, down onto the bed. Miraculously, however, not one hit me.

And even more miraculously than the fact I wasn't dead from the falling ceiling, I found myself to be scuff-free from any knife marks, either. Wide-eyed, I turned my head to the side and saw the knife lying at the edge of the bed, covered in chalky white, just like the rest of the room now was.

It hit me then that the ceiling had just saved my life. Who would've ever thought?

I jumped, slightly, when I heard a loud, cackling, supernatural laugh from Beyond's figure. His head was thrown backwards, his eyes closed, his hands held palms up to the ceiling. My panicked heart slowed, and I caught my breath—but I was so insanely disturbed by his laughing that the look of utter horror had yet to fully leave my face.

"You scare me," I whispered quietly. Of course it was a given that he scared me—hell, _terrified_ me—but I said those words slowly and carefully, so they were drenched in meaning. I wanted him to know that he scared me, beyond anyone who ever scared me before. His smile only grew, and he really did look like a malicious phantom then: tall, dark, towering, and evil. There was red in his eyes, I could see it plainly now. And it did not, like usual, disappear as quickly as it came.

"I'm glad, my dear." He reached over and picked up the switchblade, wiping it clean on his shirt. I felt ridiculous, not moving on a bed filled with giant pieces of dirty plaster. I wondered, too, if someone at the motel heard the crash and my screams—and if so, whether they would come to check or not.

But then it came crashing down on me exactly what this freak accident meant.

Beyond was right. Beyond was telling the truth. I didn't want to believe it, but he had truly proved it to me, right here, right now. I picked a spot on the bed and stared at it, trying not to look anywhere else or think too hard about what was going on, but that was near-impossible.

Did this mean I really was meant to die soon? On that date?

_August twenty-second, this coming year._

Did this mean there was really no hope for me? No way at all, on this Earth, to change it?

Short end of the stick, my ass. I never had a chance from the beginning.

"So… does this mean…" I cleared my throat, nervous about asking questions after the previous night. But my curiosity, it was too damn strong. "Does this mean you're the one meant to kill me from the beginning?"

Beyond laughed again. Such a strange laugh.

"Not necessarily. But I promise you, I _will_be the one to do it in the end." He glared at me with those hints of crimson, behind those dark eyes of his. I looked down at my hands, thinking about the fact that I would never get the chance to see them grow old and wrinkled. Well. Maybe that was a good thing.

In front of me, Beyond reached down into the bag at the bottom of the bed, from which he had offered to me earlier. He drew out a jar of jam, and it reminded me of the apple I'd stashed in my backpack for later. It was probably bad by now, shriveled and brown, rotten to the core. Too disgusting to be edible. Beyond turned slightly, and began to eat.

So I reached forward, and tried not to tug too hard at the handcuffs. I'd heard of terrible bruising to the people who fought against them, and I needed my wrist to be in ship-shape condition.

But then—I couldn't reach it.

Not that the bag had been placed too far away. That wasn't it. It was actually only a few inches away from my fingertips, just barely out of reach. I turned onto my stomach and tried to hook it with my feet, but no luck. I switched back to my hands, but every reach I made resulted in nothing.

Thinking it must have been a mistake, I looked up desperately at Beyond. But no. He was standing to the side, eating jam with his fingers, looking at me out of the corner of his eyes. Smiling.

Something broke then. Something snapped. It was much more, much bigger than the snap that had happened earlier in the motel. I was filled with rage beyond any I'd ever felt. I was angrier than when I was first kidnapped, than when I realized I felt something during my kiss with Beyond.. Oh no. I was much more angry than that.

Blood rushed to my face. My fists clenched. My heart ached with a new kind of lust: a bloodlust, to kill this man who had done so much to me. Who had trapped me, taken me away from my parents, taken me away from my home. Who had tortured me, starved me, abused me in more ways than one. I hated him. I felt nothing more for him in that moment than absolute and terrible hatred.

Which I was why I reached forward and grabbed him by his shoulders. He fell down, surprised, and I kissed him as hard as I could, filled it with longing, filled it with every emotion my body and brain refused to feel at the time.

And he kissed me back, even harder than before. I'm not sure how, but this time, I knew he meant to go as far as he could, and I knew I would let him do so.

Because I had a plan, and a life I still wanted to live, with what little time I had left. If I was going to die—going to be killed—then so be it.

But I'd be damned if it was at the hands of him.


	17. The Stranger

The Stranger

The kiss was heated and passionate but it didn't last long. Within minutes, I started to hear the distant sound of sirens—no doubt on call due to a mysterious crash heard from our motel room. We left before they could reach up, and under the dusk sky did we make our escape. Ironic, considering the police were the last thing I needed to run from. But with my last incident involving a policeman in mind, and a new plan underway, I stayed perfectly obedient as we crept to Beyond's car, bags in tow, as quickly and quietly as possible.

I wasn't tossed into the back like before, but I still had not gained front seat privileges. Once situated in the car, we were off, and I was sad to see that the sunroof was now closed and covered, leaving my only sight of the outside world to be through the front windshield.

I could barely see a thing through the layer of ice that seemed to coat the windshield, and I couldn't help but wonder how Beyond was managing to navigate so smoothly with such a terrible view. The car was thawing the ice quickly, but still… We could be _killed_ because of that windshield.

Or, rather, Beyond could be killed.

…Or could he?

Something I had never considered before suddenly dawned on me. What if Beyond's death-date wasn't before my own? I would have no chance of killing him and escaping before he killed me first. And he no doubt knew that, if he could really see when people were meant to die.

…Or did he?

An interesting thought. What if he couldn't see his own death-date? Or, even more, what if he never bothered to check? I was already torn up about knowing when I was set to die—if I had my way, I would have never pushed Beyond into telling me such a thing. So what if Beyond, not wanting to see when he would die, simply avoided his reflection, or looking at a photograph of himself, or whatever?

Now I was curious. Damn curiosity, I could never quench it. But in the end I figured this sort of question was innocent enough, if I was careful in the way I asked it, and in the way I led up to it.

"Beyond?" My voice sounded strange, being the only real noise in the car. Beyond didn't turn back or say anything, which I took as an invitation to continue. "That policeman back in Chicago? How did you know it would be his day to die?"

A long pause. The silence was—oddly enough—so loud, I nearly felt deaf. I didn't even hear any cars passing on the highway outside. What a strange night this was—even compared with all that had happened within the past few weeks.

Finally, Beyond's voice broke the silence. "I was lucky."

"Ha!" I shook my head, disbelieving. "No one's that lucky."

I looked up then to see his eyes meet my own through the rearview mirror. They were icy cold, and I flinched when they seemed to brighten up. He must have been grinning. "Maybe it was just fate."

I hated to think so. Fate that made it so I wouldn't be rescued. If he was lucky, then I was just downright cursed. Would I ever catch a break?

"Beyond?" I cleared my throat. "Can you see the death-dates of everyone?"

"Just about anyone."

"…Even yourself?"

Another long pause. I held my breath, wondering if I'd gone too far, or if he could sense the true nature of my questioning. One beat passed, then two. I made myself take in a deep breath, and let it out. In, out. In, out.

"No. Not myself."

I nearly fainted in relief, when he didn't seem to grow angry. But I knew I had stepped past my boundaries, and so I quieted down. Put myself back in my place. Oh, did I hate this plan. If I had any chance to succeed at grabbing the steering wheel and ramming us off the road in hopes of killing him right then and there, I would have done it, right then and there. But the realization was, I needed something a bit smarter than that. I was working on it, and I needed to be Beyond's pet, in the meantime, as much as it disgusted me.

I watched the clock on the dashboard change from six to seven, to eight to nine, and finally to ten before we took an exit off the road to a town by the name of Black River Falls. I wanted to ask where we were, exactly, but ended up yawning instead. Probably for the better—I wasn't sure if it would be okay to go back to question-asking yet.

After stopping for gas, we drove a while longer. I expected Beyond to sooner or later pull up to another deserted motel, but to my surprise, we instead entered another town even tinier than the last. Beyond drove through the town square, which was dark and quiet and covered in what had to have been a foot of snow.

We parked in front of a large stone building that towered over the quaint shops and stores along the road. Only a few oddly-placed streetlamps lit our way, as Beyond pulled me out of the car, locked it behind him, and began to pull me along after him down the icy sidewalk, firm grip on my arm.

I had absolutely no idea where we were going, or what we were doing. Flaunting me out in public—even if it was late at night, and no one else was around—was definitely not something Beyond would normally do.

I couldn't imagine where we could possibly be headed, at this time of night. Eventually we reached a tiny café that seemed to emit a warm, orange glow. It beckoned to me from my cold spot out on the pavement, and I nearly collapsed from relief when Beyond began to tug me in its direction.. I wanted into that café.

A bell above the doorway announced our arrival to the few people who were actually inside the building at that time of night. The place presented itself more like a diner than a café, yet still had that bakery-coffee-come-here-for-good-bread-and-espresso vibe.

I stood awkwardly in the entrance, Beyond at my side, as every person in the café seemed to simultaneously turn their heads to stare at us. I bit my lip and looked at Beyond out of the corner of my eye, nervously. He didn't appear to be worried about how much we stuck out to this small group of late-night coffee drinkers. As a matter of fact, he didn't even seem to notice, as he was paying more attention to rolling up the sleeves of his black shirt than to anything else. Once he was done with that, he started off in the direction of the back of the cafe.

"I'll be right back," he called casually over his shoulder, before disappearing around a corner.

My jaw nearly dropped open. I couldn't believe what he was doing—did he really believe it was safe to leave his captive guest alone inside an at least somewhat populated establishment? Although, what he did and did not believe weren't exactly of my concern. What did concern me was what I should do with this slightly-suspicious opportunity.

Like earlier with the police, a part of me knew that attempting something would be bad. But still, another part of me, the instinctive part of me, wanted to run up to the nearest person and explain everything. I knew, deep down inside, that that would never work—again, like with the car, I would need something smarter than that—and it was pointless to try. Besides, if Beyond would end up winning that skirmish anyway, what was the point in trying? Doing such a thing would only further ruin my chances of my overall plan working. I needed to stick to that plan. It was vital for me to do so.

After another minute or so of standing around uncomfortably while I thought through the current situation, I took a few steps over to the nearest booth and sat down, relishing the comfy cushioning in comparison to the worn seats of Beyond's (stolen) car. One of the waitresses, who had been staring at me and Beyond since we first walked in, came over to the booth and rather hesitantly asked what I'd like to eat.

"Umm…" I glanced at the menu board behind her, my hunger suddenly crashing down on me like a tidal wave. But there was no way I could order anything. Beyond wouldn't stand for it.

"I—I'm not really hungry."

The waitress raised her eyebrows and shrugged, like it didn't matter to her that I was going to starve to death. No doubt she thought I was anorexic. Her high heels clacked against the tile floor when she walked away, drawing even more eyes to my booth. I tried to make myself as invisible as possible to these people. I wanted to disappear from their views.

But several minutes later, after most of the curious glances had left me, I noticed that one pair of unwavering blue eyes still remained firmly locked in my direction. They belonged to a young man with sandy blond hair and a pleasant face, who was dressed like a typical person his age, in a blue button-up t-shirt, and khakis. It had been a long time since someone other than Beyond had paid this much attention to me, and I blushed under his stare. I wasn't sure whether this made me feel good or bad—in the end, I decided that it simply felt weird, and my night would be a whole lot better if Beyond would simply hurry up in the bathroom or wherever else it was he had disappeared to, and take me away from this place.

Unfortunately, that didn't happen. Instead, the man whose gaze never left my figure stood from his seat at the counter and actually made his way over to me. I squirmed, even more uncomfortable than before, as he took the place in the booth right across from my own, without even asking first.

Smiling joyfully, he clasped his hands together and gave me a sweet look. "Hey."

I was beginning to sweat. I knew this wasn't going to end well.

When I never answered him, the young man cleared his throat. "I heard you say you weren't hungry and I hardly believe it. I'd like to order you some food. Clarice!"

My eyes widened, fearfully, as the waitress returned to the table.

"Yeah?" She eyed me more warily this time. I wondered if she was interested in this man. It was a small town, and that wouldn't surprise me.

"Bring us a basket of rolls and some cheese. Oh, and a hot chocolate!"

The waitress, Clarice, nodded and headed back to the kitchen. I started to play with the hem of my t-shirt, wringing it over and over, dreading the moment Beyond returned.

"So," the young man raised an eyebrow, still smiling. "What brings you to our tiny neck of the woods?"

I didn't respond. I couldn't. My throat had locked up completely. This confident stranger, who obviously had no idea who he was dealing with, didn't seem like he would be leaving anytime soon, even without me saying anything. And since he'd ordered me food, that only meant he wished to stay longer. I suddenly very much did not want Beyond to come back anytime soon.

When it became clear to this stranger that I wasn't going to respond to his question, he tried something else. "My name is Alexander. I live just down the road."

I wasn't quite sure what his address had to do with his name, but I had more important things to ponder. And worry about. Such as Beyond's reaction to this. Such as this Alexander's next question.

"Who is that man you're with?"

_Oh, just your everyday sadistic murderer, with otherworldly powers. Nothing too out of the ordinary._

"Well? Is he your boyfriend?"

_Totally. We live together with two cats and spend every evening reading Sylvia Plath and Emily Dickinson poems by the fireplace._

"Don't tell me he's your boyfriend, or I just _might_ have to kill him and kidnap you."

_Hahahahahahaha… No, wait, wait… Hahahahaha… Haha… Ha. Okay, okay, I'm good._

He slowly seemed to catch on to the fact that his good-natured joking manner was not winning any hearts here. His expression turned solemn, and he leaned forward seriously.

"Please. At least tell me your name."

I sighed. I guessed it wouldn't really make much of a difference if I talked to him—Beyond was going to be furious either way when he finally got back. So I took a deep breath and answered with the fake name I had been given.

"Leigh." My voice was surprisingly scratchy—no doubt matching my rough appearance. "And that man is my husband." I held up the hand that still held the ring and Alexander's eyes widened.

"Now that's unfortunate, for someone as pretty as you—"

"Look, Alexander," I cut him off, suddenly growing desperate just to shake the guy. For as annoying as he was growing to be, he seemed nice enough, and so I wished to spare him from Beyond as much as I could. "You're sweet. Really. But it would be best if you leave."

He blinked, his stare blank. I bit my lip and glanced back towards where Beyond had disappeared. Alexander must have noticed my fear-filled look, as he narrowed his eyes and quickly took on a tone of severity.

"Does he hit you?"

"What? No!"

"Is he abusive?"

I saw something move—a shadow from across the room. A very much Beyond-like shadow. I became even more anxious to ditch this man.

"He isn't. Now leave."

But my voice must have not been firm enough, because he stayed put. My breathing turned shallow with dread. My head kept turning from Alexander to the shadow and back to Alexander, in a frantic manner that only seemed to make the situation worse. Only the skin-to-skin contact of Alexander's hands on mine broke me out of my agitated state, and threw me straight into one of complete and utter shock.

"Please," he whispered. "You don't know me, but I can help you."

My mouth quivered. I had no idea how to respond. I could only stare into this man's sincere eyes, for the few seconds I knew I had remaining, and wish that he was right, that he could help me. But I knew that no one could help me. I could only help myself.

"Alexander—"

I was quickly cut off, by a second, and very much familiar voice.

"Leigh."

I froze. No, not now. No no no no no.

"Leigh, who's this?"

I would have given up then and there , if it weren't for the fact that I pitied this man. Pitied the man who sat across from me, his hands still touching my own. Pity wasn't normally something I bestowed upon its receiver generously enough for me to do something stupid for them. I'm sad to say that this was an exception.

Fortunately, before I _could_do something stupid, the waitress walked up with the food.

"Hot chocolate and rolls with cheese?"

She seemed to sense that this was not a good time—she turned right around and headed straight back to the kitchen, food still in hand. Beyond, rather violently, grabbed my arm and pulled me up on my feet. All movement and noise inside the little café/diner had ceased. The eyes were back on us again. Something lurched in my stomach. Any moment now and I would throw up due to nerves.

"I think you should leave now," Beyond hissed. Alexander narrowed his eyes and stood up quickly.

"Fine. I'll go," Alexander turned his head slightly in my direction and said, in a softer voice, "Remember what I said."

I stood as still as a statue as I watched Alexander dash out the door in a flourish. I didn't want to look at Beyond's face. I didn't want to see in his eyes what my punishment would be. But once again, my curiosity got the best of me.

His mouth was tense, his eyes as narrowed as Alexander's had been. His grip on my arm tightened, and I knew it would be leaving bruises. But these things were not what caught my attention—it was the red in his eyes, the red of bloodlust, as he stared at the door Alexander had just disappeared through, that made me realize this wasn't over. Not by a long shot.

"Come on," Beyond tugged at my arm and I let him lead me out the door. We were met with a furious gust of wind, and I gasped as the cold hit my skin like daggers, pinpointed to every part of my exposed body. Alexander was a bit down the road, heading straight to the neighborhood nearest the café. Back to his home, the one he said was nearby.

"W-what are you doing?" I managed to say, as Beyond began traipsing after the man. He turned back to grin at me, and his red eyes were more prominent than ever.

"We're going to pay your little friend Mr. Alexander a visit."


	18. The Terror

The Terror

With no way to stop him, I followed Beyond all the way to the entrance of the neighborhood. Everything was happening too fast for me. One minute Beyond was empty-handed, and the next he held the same handgun from before—and the switchblade, as well.

"Beyond, what are you—" He silenced me with a glare, and I knew it was pointless to ask him, anyway. I knew exactly what he planned to do. This was what he did, every night in Chicago; break into people's houses, torture, kill… And it's what he planned to do now. The only difference being that I was now along for the ride.

If Alexander heard us following him, he didn't let on. This wasn't exactly a battle, and I wasn't exactly rooting for Alexander, but I definitely didn't want him to die.

Wait a second. Could he die?

Or would torture be worse than death? No doubt, Beyond knew he couldn't kill him, but would try anyway. And in trying, Alexander would come so close to meeting death, that he would never be able to live his life normally ever again.

What if there was someone else home with him? Would they be harmed too? For some reason, I shuddered more at this thought than at the thought of Alexander's torture. Alexander may not deserve what he was about to get, but any family he had, unsuspectingly tucked into their beds at home, most definitely should not have to witness anything that happened tonight, let alone actually take part in the slaughter Beyond was planning.

Alexander wasn't kidding when he said he lived right down the road. His house was the first one on the left, in the tiny neighborhood, that stood out as quaint, even_ with _being covered in a layer of snow. Alexander walked up the steps and took out a set of keys, unlocking the door as he checked his watch. No lights turned on in his house after he entered, which meant one of two things: either one, he was too tired to bother and about to collapse in bed anyway; or two, he had family asleep inside.

Hoping for one, Beyond and I stepped carefully up the stairs to the porch. I always thought of Beyond as being the "make an entrance" type, and so he surprised me when, instead of breaking down the door, he simply brought out ring of strangely-shaped tools. A lock-picking set.

Within minutes, the door creaked open reluctantly, and we snuck into the house together. I wanted so desperately to run, right then and there… But at the same time, there was a sort of thrill that ran through my body, as we took our first few steps into the main hallway of the house. A sort of dangerous, terrible, wonderful thrill that couldn't compare to anything in the world—except for, maybe, kissing Beyond.

But that didn't necessarily mean I enjoyed what we were doing. I didn't enjoy my kiss with Beyond, did I?

Well… Alright, perhaps that's a bad example.

There was a shuffling noise at the end of the hallway. I froze, but Beyond continued on, leaving behind his sly pose for a more casual one. Like he belonged in this house, like he was a friend.

He held up a hand behind him, as if to say "wait here." I did just that, stopping in my place while Beyond continued on. For some reason, another feeling rippled through me. This one was odder, harder to place, but it was something like that moment when Beyond first kidnapped me, first took me, as we were coming off the bus. When I felt his touch for the first time on my body, before I fully realized what was happening, there was this same feeling. Like no matter what happened after this moment, no matter what came next, my life was about to change. Something new was about to happen. And it would most likely be bad.

Beyond had disappeared around the corner. I waited, nervously, eyes clenched shut as I hoped Beyond wasn't feeling particularly in the killing mood today. Hah, like that would ever happen.

Two minutes after Beyond left me alone, I heard a terrible, high-pitched shriek pierce the silence. Then a loud thump—no, several thumps, like something falling down a flight of stairs. There was a groan, and then another person screamed—this time, coming from a man.

The scream was cut off, and silence returned. Despite the house being surprisingly cold, I began to sweat. So there was someone else inside the house. And Beyond had gotten to them as well.

It took all my courage I had left to take the few steps towards the end of the hallway. When I reached it, I peered around the corner; still nervous, still sweating. And the sight in front of me was not a pretty one.

Someone _had_ fallen down a flight of stairs. Or, rather, was pushed. A woman bearing a strangely strong resemblance to Alexander lay, bloodied and unconscious, at the foot of the steep stairway. She wasn't dead yet—I could see her chest rise and fall in a delicate sort of manner—but she was very much injured. What had happened upstairs was still a mystery to me. I wasn't sure if I had the stomach to go and find out.

A few moments later, however, I discovered I wouldn't have to go and find out. Beyond appeared at the top of the stairs and held out his hand, in a beckoning sort of manner. He really did look like a God of the Dead then, as the moonlight filtered in from a window behind him, illuminating his body in a ghostly glow. His shirt was drenched in blood, his skin stained with it as well. I knew better than to stand gaping up at him instead of follow his orders, and so I began to tentatively make my way around the body and up the stairs.

Upon reaching the upper landing, I nearly gagged at the sight before me. Alexander lay, beaten and bloodied, curled up in the narrow hallway that connected the staircase. Blood smeared the walls and the rug below him; it was too dark to see much detail, but I could tell already it was a gory scene. I had seen a lot of terrible things before, things like what happened to the police officer, and all those people in the articles, but… but knowing Alexander, even for those short few minutes, made this thing the most terrible of them all. How nice he had been, trying to save me… And this is what he received in return. It made me sick to think that this was how the world worked. That this was the sort of thing that happened to the people who tried to do good. I felt so nauseous, then, staring down at him, that I nearly gagged.

"My dear…" I felt Beyond's hand on my head, stroking my hair. I flinched at his touch, but he didn't seem too insulted by my reaction. He was too focused on Alexander, on his own handiwork. Like a floating phantom, he glided to the other side of Alexander's body, and shook his head, mock pity covering his face.

"How sad you must feel… Your little friend, so close to death."

Alexander twitched slightly, possibly by reflex, and in an instant, Beyond brought his foot down hard on Alexander's chest. He went still and for a moment, I thought he had passed out—until I saw his eyes, still open and shiny with tears of pain, glaring up at Beyond and me.

"And so, if you care about him so much, my dear, I was thinking…" Beyond reached behind his back and pulled a gun from the waistline of his pants. My heart beat a bit faster as I saw the metal glimmer slightly, under the slight bit of light that traveled from the windows. "…That perhaps you would like to be the one to make his pain go away."

With a casual sort of ease, Beyond picked up my ice-cold hand from my side and slid the gun into it. My breathing grew rapid; my heart began to beat quickly in panic. He wanted me to be the murder? He wanted me to be the one to kill Alexander?

There was no way I could do such a thing—sleep with Beyond to gain his trust, maybe, but _shoot _someone? End a human being's _life_? Was I really willing to go that far? Was I really willing to kill someone else in hopes it would, maybe, bring me closer to my own freedom?

How could Alexander even be killed? Was today truly his day to die? No, I had a hard time believing this. Fate wasn't so cruel, so uncaring. What Beyond was doing, now, it had to be merely symbolic… But symbolism was strong, especially in an event such as this. I couldn't shoot Alexander, even if it wouldn't harm him.

"No…"

"What did you say?" Beyond's voice was dangerously low, filled with warning. I caught my breath and mustered up the courage to speak again.

"No." Despite my small, quivering voice, the word seemed to travel a million miles, electrifying the space around me.

Beyond was unmoving, unwavering. He stared at me silently, his expression giving away absolutely nothing, although I could tell he was evaluating me, sizing me up, deciding what exactly he was going to do about my insubordination. The part of me that worried this little act of rebellion would conflict with my plot was pushed away by my greater fear of what my refusal meant for my well-being. My skin needed no more bruises, no more scars, all Beyond's favorite decoration. But above my fear was my morality, my humanity, which I refused to corrupt, even with the stoic figure of Beyond looming above me, reminding me of my punishment if I did not comply. Really, I had come to the conclusion that, with my death on my horizon and Beyonds' iron grip on my shoulder, morality and humanity were truly the only things I had left. Certainly, I planned to kill Beyond when the time arose, after I finally gained his trust. But Beyond was not human. He was a monster. He was a beast. And he deserved to die.

"No," I said again, more defiantly, when Beyond did not respond. With emphasis, I threw down the gun. It clattered on the dirty ground, right next to Alexander's bloodied head. I felt triumphant, and almost smiled out of pride, when I heard a shaky mumble from Alexander.

"What are you doing?"

It was low and crackly, but I could still make out the words. In a moment of brief confusion, my smile faded somewhat. And then I heard his next words with enough clarity to wipe it away completely.

"Pick up the gun… Shoot him!"

Beyond's expressionless face warped as he smiled—no, grinned—with a cat-like ferocity. Everything that happened within that next second was a blur. I leapt downward to grab the gun, but barely even touched the cold metal when I felt Beyond push me away, violently, and pick it up in my stead. Before I could protest or fight for it, I was in his arms, pushed against the nearest wall, the barrel of the gun pressed to my temple.

We were both bleeding, which surprised me. In all this time, I hadn't seen a single injury on Beyond, and now, there was a long, thin scratch on his face, right below his eye, from which a drop of blood trailed down his cheek. I was much more battered than him, but still, it was satisfying seeing him in this way. He seemed more vulnerable now, less powerful, and less immortal. I soaked it up while I still could.

Breathing hard, we simply stared at one another. Internally, I cursed. How could I have been so stupid? There was my chance, right then and there, to finish the job, buy my freedom—and so much freedom is would have been. Oh, how I would have savored my last days, those last days on this Earth, savored my life and the hope that maybe my encounter with Beyond was all just a dream, and I was completely insane, and I wouldn't really die in August after all. Sure, that would mean I was batshit crazy, but I could deal with that. It sounded much better than my current situation.

But seriously—what happened? Earlier that night, I would have died to get my hands on that gun—figuratively speaking, of course. So why, when he had handed it to me, in that confident way, did it not even cross my mind to turn it on him and shoot him dead right then and there? Maybe I was truly insane, maybe there was something wrong with my mind…

Or maybe he wasn't mean to die.

I gulped at this prospect. All of this fate and death… it was beginning to screw with my mind. If I wasn't crazy already, I would be soon.

But wait a minute… So, I had screwed up. I didn't turn the gun on him like I should've, alright, and maybe that could be explained by fate. But what about him? He gave me the gun in the first place, didn't he? What made him do that?

Just as much as it was a stupid mistake on my part to drop the gun, it was a stupid mistake on his part to give it to me—his captive, of all people!—in the first place. Really, right then and there, I couldn't figure out which one of us was the bigger idiot.

But why did he do it? Why didn't he even consider, for a second, the fact that maybe I would turn on him? And why didn't I even consider for a second doing the turning?

As much as it horrified me to consider it, I realized there might be something else behind our actions—something a bit worse than simply fate working its magic. Perhaps I was working my magic well enough, too well, even, and that was a good thing—he handed over the gun and trusted me not to take advantage of the situation. That was good. But, like a moron, I hadn't taken advantage of the situation—it never even crossed my mind. That was bad. For a few moments, still stuck there against the wall, I debated whether the bad outweighed the good or vice versa, and eventually came to the conclusion that it didn't really matter at this point. I should really just focus on the problem now at hand. Beyond had the gun. It was pointed at my head. Let's just take this one step at a time.

I wasn't quite sure how long we stood there. No sound came from Alexander, or the woman downstairs. As a matter of fact, there didn't seem to be any sound at all. I couldn't see beyond Beyond's face. And, really, none of my surroundings were of much importance to me then anyway. There was just me, and Beyond. Beyond and me. Beyond, with his black eyes—black eyes that remained transfixed on my own. Black eyes that were nearly hypnotizing, the deep scarlet dancing just behind their murky surface…

And was it just me, or was he getting closer? Was it just me, or was his body beginning to press into my own? Was that his hand on my waist or just my imagination? Were his lips only a centimeter away from my own or was I just hallucinating?

I pretty quickly forgot about the events of that night. Alexander. The gun. My stupidity, and Beyond's as well—all of it disappeared within a flash. Replacing it was that thrill from before, that wonderful thrill, rippling through my body, overtaking me. In the back of my head, I questioned myself, my values, and my morality, especially. But I waved all that away. This fit the plan, after all. This is what needed to happen. This is what I wanted to happen. I wasn't just satisfying some sick urge of mine. I wouldn't be doing this is I didn't have to, right?

…Right?


	19. The Rose Room

The Rose Room

The police came, as they always did. We snuck out the back but not before I snuck a last look back into the darkness of the house, thinking of the near-dead body inside, lying in misery, waiting to be interrogated by policemen when they, in truth, knew nothing about what had just occurred. My heart fell thinking about it, about Alexander, and whoever that woman was—but I didn't have enough time to break myself over it, as Beyond rushed down the street, with blue and red flashing, reflecting off the white snow. We passed the café, now closed, and rounded the corner back to his car, which sat covered in a thin new layer of ice.

I expected him to shove me into the back again, but instead he walked over to the passenger door, opening it for me. I hesitated, then nodded to him—almost in thanks, as if I could ever pay thanks to him—then took the spot, rubbing my frozen arms in hopes of fighting the cold.

We began to drive, and slowly I drifted off to sleep, a lazy dream in which the dark sky above and the white ground below mixed and danced with each other, blurring together in passing, and the gray they created was so beautifully serene, it lulled me into a surprisingly sound sleep. I awoke only to Beyond's heavy hand falling down, gently by firmly, on my sore shoulder.

"You choose where we stop tonight." It was not a suggestion, nor a question. It was like a statement and an order blended into one, as if there were no other choice than to choose. I wiped the sleep from my eyes, drowsily, and squinted at his dark shape. He faced straight ahead, hands draped casually over the wheel. I could barely make out his face in the dim lighting. It was still dark; I couldn't have been sleeping long.

The scene felt oddly like a dream. This whole adventure—if one could even call something as twisted as this an adventure—felt so terribly dreamlike, if I hadn't been so beaten and battered, I try pinching myself to wake up.

When I didn't respond to him, Beyond repeated himself once more.

"You choose where we stop tonight." His voice echoed loudly, forcefully. I recoiled, almost as if he were raising a hand. "Decide before dawn."

I didn't know quite how he expected me to choose—it wasn't like I had access to expedia, or something. I thought about telling him I didn't care—that he could choose whatever he wanted—but I paused. I didn't quite understand his personality, what went on inside the brain of a madman, and what to expect when he wasn't acting like a raging lunatic, when he was calm like at the moment. For all I knew he could be like Cam, who I never dated but came close to once, when he asked me to do something, anything, with him.

"Oh, like what?" I had said excitedly when Cam suggested it, happy to finally have a life outside of school.

"You choose," he replied, not unlike how Beyond had asserted himself not a moment before.

"I don't care, I'd be good with anything." I thought I was being bright and accommodating, but for whatever reason, this annoyed him. The conversation had turned into a fight and before I knew it, the plans were canceled, despite the kiss we'd shared only a few days beforehand.

I wasn't too worried about this happening with Beyond—hell, it would be heaven if he cancelled our "plans"—but at the same time, I needed to make him happy. Besides, this was an order, not a suggestion. I swallowed back my original, easygoing reply, and offered a soft "okay" in response, and although I could only see his eyes reflecting the sporadic lights from the highway, glowing a red-tinged black with every glare, he seemed pleased.

"Good."

It felt like ages before I finally figured out a place. The time on the radio, which remained off throughout the entire midnight ride, red 6:27 when we passed a large billboard advertising a quaint Bed and Breakfast, "with the best Wisconsin cookin' you've ever tasted."

I cleared my throat before stating, as clearly as I could manage, "how about there?"

He didn't respond, and I thought I picked wrong—maybe he didn't have enough money for a B&B, which would explain the poor motel we'd recently camped in—but to my surprise, we took that exit and found ourselves on an empty, black country road that led into a wooded area. He followed the signs to the Bed and Breakfast, turning off onto a gravel read that seemed to be taking us to nowhere. I couldn't see anything beyond the headlights, and I shuddered as the shadows seemed to dance around us. Finally, a large, country-style ranch lit appeared in front of us, with tiny tea lights decorating the front entrance, the garage, and a beautiful garden.

The sun was beginning to come up as he pulling into a cul-de-sac parking area. He checked the sky, then glanced at me, as the purple-blue of dawn brought the surrounding forest to life.

"Good timing," he commented without emotion, and I felt a heavy weight be lifted off my shoulders. I hadn't realized I'd been stressed over such a simply task until I received his approval, and the relief was astoundingly strong.

I sat awkwardly in the seat while he turned off the car, and reached behind to the back for my bag. He handed it to me and I clutched it uncertainly.

"You should change, quickly, before the sun comes up all the way. You have some blood on your clothes."

I looked down and flushed, a bit woozily, as I realized he was correct.

From my bag I pulled a fresh, long-sleeved gray shirt. I turned and stared at him, and he stared back at me unfazed. I hoped he would get the point, that I wanted privacy, but then I had to remember that he wasn't a normal man, and points would not be taken. I slipped off my jacket and pulled the gray shirt over the bloodstained one. My pants were relatively unscathed, from the previous fight, and so I wasn't worried—my jacket was basically ruined, however, so I balled it up and stuffed it back inside the bag.

"We'll take care of that later," he said, with an icy grin, and then he surprised me by pulling out a second bag from behind his seat. I had never seen it before, and was somewhat perplexed when he removed a black jacket, which he zipped over his heavily stained shirt. His pants, too, were pretty bad, but when he saw me staring at them, he smiled once more and said, "No one will notice." And perhaps no one would notice, because they were black and the stain could be anything. He then exited the vehicle, and I followed close behind him.

I could almost see the sun on the horizon when we reached the front door of the ranch. The house itself was painted a bright white, its doors a delicate sage—the windows sported lace curtains on the inside, the tea lights flickering off the panes as we traipsed inside.

The entrance room was surprisingly large and roomy—a cherrywood desk sat next to the stairwell, and an appointment book sat crisply open on its surface. Beyond stopped walking and rang a bell that was attached to the wall next to the desk. The sound of crinkling newspaper filled our ears, and we both turned to the left, where an old man sat on an antique couch in a room adjacent to the entryway. He gave us an odd look, and stood up.

"Who's there?" he asked, squinting. He placed a pair of glasses on the bridge of his nose and dropped the paper. "We aren't open this early. Do you have a reservation?"

"My wife and I," Beyond said, wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me close to him, where his hand touched burning like fire, although I couldn't exactly tell in what way. "We would like a room."

Beyond glanced at me, and I took the hint to smile, pleasantly, the man—who seemed no less off put by my charming demeanor.

"But no reservation? And this early?"

The man's puffy, unshaved face grew red at our nerve. I felt a shiver go down my back, dread facing down on me. What if he told us we couldn't stay here? What would Beyond do? He was a wild animal, too unpredictable. He could decide to blow up the whole house, if he felt like it.

Beyond smiled, almost tolerably, and again I had that strange feeling like I didn't really know him, or the type of person he was. Had he at one point been normal? What had turned him into the psychopath he was now? Or had he always been this way, crazed and violent? He reached his hand into his pocket, and I began to sweat with worry. But all he brought up was a piece of paper—but no, not paper…

"A hundred dollars, for your trouble." He still smiled, holding the paper out. "And of course, your usual room rate."

The man's face turned back to its original papery pallor, surprise dawning on him, and his eyebrows shot up confusedly. But he took the hundred, avoiding touching Beyond's deathly pale and spindly fingers, and grudgingly pocketed the cash.

"Very well." How long will you be staying, Mr. and Mrs.…?"

"Ryuzaki. I'm not sure, how long do you think, my dear?"

He turned to me and his seemingly pleasant smiled transformed into the animal grin. I tried to keep calm, not give anything away.

"Two… two nights," I managed to get out. I glanced sideways at Beyond, in hope of achieving approval, but could not read his face. The old man nodded.

"Tonight and tomorrow night, then? Any preferences on rooms?"

I shook my head, as Beyond had let me take control, and the man shrugged and said, "Alright. But you'll be paying up front."

This didn't seem to worry Beyond, and he pulled more, bare bills from his pocket, counting them out for the man. I stood back waiting, my nerves disappearing, at least for now.

Once the transaction was complete, we were led up to the polished staircase and along a paneled hallway to an end door.

"The Rose Room," the man said, as if rooms normally had themes, and opened the door to an eclipsed room. He did not turn on the lights, but instead turned sharply and walked away.

Beyond entered the still-dark room without touching the lights, the only illumination coming from the windows, which he quickly covered with the heavy curtains. Everything became black.

"Sleep," he said, pointing to the bed. My legs began to buckle—I was tired, so tired, from the night, and I'd barely been able t sleep in the car. Wordlessly, I did what he said and went to lay myself down on the dim outline of the bed, but not before he put his hand on my shoulder and turned me as if he were going to kiss me. But instead, he only helped me get under the comforter, and then he ran a single hand over the form of my body, from my neck all the way down to the toes. I didn't stay awake long enough to find out what he did next, because the dreamless rest washed over me as soon as my head touched the pillow and my eyes closed.

When I woke, the curtains had been opened, oddly, and the room was deserted. I didn't forget where I was, but I spent a good few minutes simply lying there, staring at the sun through the window, wishing that I could. I was so tried of this, and I didn't awake any more rested than when I'd went to sleep—I simply felt as overwhelmed and miserable as when I was first taken. Slowly, I sat up, and my head rushed. What time was it, anyway? How long had I slept?

I looked around the room and was immediately struck by the beauty of it. I remembered the old man's words, "The Rose Room," but it seemed so fitting, so wonderfully perfect a name for what surrounded me in that moment.

The walls were painted a pleasing cream and trimmed in a rosy pinkish-red. The floor was hardwood, but covered with an ornate rug decorated in a flower print that somehow managed not to look like my grandmother's carpetbag. Fresh bouquets decorated the room, each on a different surface—one on a vanity, one on the nightstand, one of the dresser, and one on a coffee table that was situated in front of the windows, two overstuffed red armchairs facing it. A second door than the one we'd entered through the night before opened into a quaint, country-styled bathroom, and the bed itself was canopied and covered in rose petals that I'd failed to notice the night before.

I looked around, feeling out of place in such a comfortable room, until my eyes found the clock—8 o'clock, it read, in analog format.

8 o'clock… In the morning?

My groggy mind seemed to reel. I had slept nearly twenty-four hours, possibly more—no wonder my brain and body felt so strange and slow. I stretched myself out like a cat on the bed, and was distracted momentarily when I glanced at the bruises and cuts that decorated my cream-colored arms.

I ran a hand over them and winced. What sounded wonderful, right then and there, was a shower—as if a shower could rinse away all this pain.

I stumbled out of the bed and entered the bathroom, where I was surprised to find only a tub, which also contained the same type of rose petals scattered at its deep bottom. I hesitated, wondering whether I really had the time for a bath, if Beyond returned, but then deciding that the remainder of my life was too close for me to be able to care. I felt grimy and gross and I hadn't had a bath in years, and so I found myself shutting and locking the door before drawing the water.

I slipped out of my clothes to find that my legs, too, were bruised, and I had somehow grown thinner since the last time I'd stared into a mirror. I didn't even bother to look now; I knew I would be terribly bony, and corpse-like. I hadn't eaten, after all, in days at this point. The hunger I had maybe felt a day or so beforehand had settled into a vast emptiness that clenched at my stomach and chest. I didn't crave food anymore. It was like my body had given up altogether on making me eat.

I was, however, very thirsty, now that my mind was on the topic of nourishment. I bent over the sink and turned on the faucet, and not even bothering to search for a glass, I ran the water and drank straight from where it fell.

A minute later, I returned to the bath, which was now full, and lowered myself into its steaming embrace. The hot water felt wonderful, and was so clean and clear—I imagined it healing me, washing over my injuries, both physical and mental. I sat in there for what had to have been about two hours, and every once in a while I would drain the cold and refill it again with the hot. The third time I did this, the fog in my mind that had developed that morning began to dissipate and I started to function once more.

_Okay. Keep your head, you need to stay focused, _I thought to myself, and then whispered it out loud, as if to validate myself. I couldn't give in to him. I wouldn't give into him. I had a plan. I had to put this in place starting… tonight? This "hotel," this Bed and Breakfast… it was perfect. "Romantic," although I barely understood that word anymore. I had seven months. I had time. But I wanted to get rid of Beyond as soon as possible. So yes. I would need to start now.

I continued to think, developing more ideas, a script almost, however flexible. By the time I emerged from the bathroom in one of the B&B's fluffy white robes, I was scrubbed clean and puffy with wrinkles that would remain engrained in my fingertips for the next few hours. I wrung out my hair and found my bag in one of the armchairs. My jacket had been cleaned, I was surprised to find, as had some of my other clothes. I donned an oversize plain white t-shirt and my second pair of jeans. Fortunately, dressing up did not seem to be something Beyond cared much about.

Speaking of Beyond, where was he?

The other side of the Queen bed hadn't been slept in, but that didn't mean he hadn't slept at all. I considered leaving the room, to look for him, but fear gripped me tight—what if I wasn't supposed to? What if that made him angry? I couldn't risk it.

But I didn't know how to keep myself busy there. I had survived nearly two weeks trapped in that terrible room at the building in Chicago, but for the past few days, I'd been pretty well occupied. Now I didn't know what to do with myself. My brain was restless with plotting and I was almost certain how to go about my plan, now. But I wanted a distraction in the meanwhile, something that would keep the anxiety from creeping up…

A book. I looked towards the night table and there stuck out a few thick, dusty books holding up an alarm clock. Well, it wasn't what I considered a light read, but it would work.

I read for about four hours more, a travel book about Wisconsin, a large historical review of the Hungarians, and a risqué romance novel that took place in the early nineteen hundreds that made me blush. I cursed myself for it. If I couldn't get through simple smut, how in the world was I supposed to seduce someone in person? Especially someone as frightening as the man who kidnapped me? Eventually, I put away the novel, wishing my life could be as easy as it was for the heroine the book starred.

I spent the next few hours, until nightfall, staring at the ceiling. I couldn't stop the thoughts from coming; Beyond, and Alexander, and the gun and my own stupidity. I hated myself so much it tore at my insides. How was I even in this situation in the first place? How come I couldn't get out of it easier? Beyond wasn't smarter than me—I knew I could find some way to trick him. And then he would die… Not me.

When the sun began to set, I started to cry. I snuggled myself underneath the covers again, squishing a few rose petals as I went, and pulled them up close to my body. My soft sobs echoed across the room—the lights were dim, and flickering softly. Other than that, all was still. All was quiet. I realized again how long it had been since I'd eaten and I cried harder. I felt like such a baby—why couldn't I just get over myself? Why couldn't I handle this like a normal, badass woman would? Why did it have to be so difficult for me?

I didn't hear him come in, and I wasn't sure how of my crying he'd heard before he got into bed next to me. I immediately tensed, but my cries only came faster. His body felt surprisingly warm as it pressed against mine—slowly, surprisingly gentle, he wrapped his arms around me. I became even louder, desperate, gasping, panicked; mixed with terror and misery, it broke the through the stillness that had been in that room previously. He pulled me closer to him, turning my body towards him so my hands pressed against his chest, and my face burrowed into his neck, and tears wetted his skin.

He didn't seem crazy, now. He seemed calm and almost comforting, and in that moment it was like he became human—the only true human interaction I'd had in so, so long. I thought about the plan, but my proximity turned my thoughts into soup, and I could only press my body deeper into his, and pull him on top of me, almost impulsively. I couldn't tell if I was doing it because I had to or if, god forbid it, please no, I wanted to. My cries died, burned against his skin and lips trembling, I began to kiss at his neck, beginning slowly, then picking up speed. I bit at his skin, and my hands ran against his back, almost lovingly. The plan, I thought, the plan… He seemed so human now, felt so human—those hands that caressed me now, they couldn't be the hands of a beast, could they? Those lips that suddenly moved to my own, in one quick motion, but then down to my jaw and then over to my ear, and that let out small, urgent gasps… Those lips were human, weren't they? We stayed like that for so long, I lost track of the time; I lost it to his fingers grabbing at my hair, and hands on bare skin, moans of pleasure despite how strangely chaste our actions actually were. Although, innocent, they were not.

When we finally fell asleep, it was together—him holding me comfortably, bodies tingling with touch, and my sobbing at an end, finally, and my cheeks dry. I felt the aching pull of sleep, but when I entered it time, it was with a serenity that I hadn't felt in so long a time, I had begun to think it no longer existed.

*Note*

Hi everyone! Now that my hiatus is off writing-wise and on school-wise, I finally found time to continue this! I thought for a while about letting it go dead, but truthfully, I just enjoy writing it too much, and I have A LOT in store for it. I've been planning for a while on going back through an editing what's been published previously (I've already done this on some of the documents saved to my computer, and quite a few changes have been made). I normally don't edit too much before I publish here because it only makes me self-conscious of my writing, although I do always skim through to make sure there aren't any huge and incriminating mistakes, and I apologize for anything you guys come across. Thanks to those who bother to point stuff out to me, seeing as this makes my job easier. ;) Also, I really do appreciate any comments/critique/etc that anyone takes the time to leave! It keeps me writing. :)

Anyway, I have another chapter handwritten right now, I just need to find the time to type it up. (Later tonight, I'm thinking?)

Happy reading!


	20. The Agreeable Lunch

The Agreeable Lunch

The next morning, the curtains on the windows had been drawn once more, and when I sat up in bed, I saw Beyond gathering my clothes together and putting them away inside my bag. I slid out from under the covers and looked down at my outfit, still sore from the a couple nights previously. I looked up at him apologetically.

"Could I… could I at least change my shirt?"

He allowed me to do so, passing a new one without a word, along with my newly cleaned jacket. I changed, and brushed my teeth and washed my face inside the bathroom, preparing for whatever that day would bring me as I scrubbed at my skin. The circles under my eyes were no longer there, but the area was now puffy, either from the twenty-four-hour nap, or from the crying the night before. Regardless, I felt surprisingly refreshed. My mind flashed to what else had happened last night and my stomach, for a moment, dropped, as if I were on a roller coaster. I grabbed on to the sink and stared at my own eyes until the feeling subsided and I felt stabilized once more. I took a deep breath.

"Nothing really happened," I whispered to myself. "But something needs to happen…"

It wouldn't be very long until something _did_ happen. I felt like a teenager, my emotions chaotic and unyielding, and then I realized I was a teenager, although I felt twenty years older. I was being dramatic, really. My plan was, truthfully, going along smoothly—why couldn't I be pleased about that?

Maybe it's because the plan involved me simply pretending to be infatuated with him… And not _actually_ being so. Beyond was the closes thing I'd had to having a romantic relationship in my life, though. God, that was so screwed up. F I didn't die, I would certainly need a therapist after this.

After this. It was hard to imagine an "after." It was like I had already accepted the inevitable. But everyone dies, eventually. It's what you do beforehand that matters.

Beyond abruptly opened the door to the bathroom, and I jumped.

"We'll be having lunch before we leave. I hope you feel… _better_, after your vacation." He grinned, and shut the door again. I forced myself to stand tall and relax, but I couldn't help but think if this were a vacation, what would happen if we returned to "work." My mind flashed to the newspaper clippings, the blood and the gore and the disgusting violence.

As he promised, we had lunch. The old man from before, now seemingly bored with us as a couple, led us to a small room at the other side of the ranch, where several other couples and small families sat at rounded, cloth tables. Light streamed through the windows and brightened up the faces of so many happy, healthy people. I wondered if they would notice how different we were; how we didn't seem to fit in.

We were seated near the middle. I felt so small in my set—my body was so weak and tiny at this point, I must have looked repulsive. I needed to eat. Even Beyond had to know that.

"Order what you want," he said, picking up a white cardstock menu. Adorned with gold trim, all the names of the plates felt like gibberish, when I read over them. When a waiter came over to our table, I read out loud one of the entrees, although the words felt foreign to me.

"Braised chicken in plum sauce."

"Soup or salad?" the waiter asked, pointedly. I asked which was bigger.

"Equal in size, ma'am."

"Soup, then."

I had never seen Beyond eat, but he ordered a steak—"bloody." While waiting for the food, he didn't talk. He simply stared at me, and I stared back at him, waiting for some form of contact that didn't come. I examined his face, which had always seemed phantom-like to me, and when I tried to place it in my mind, the exact features always alluded me. Perhaps I never wanted to keep the picture of him, the same way the mind blocks bad memories from dark places so they wouldn't keep haunting you in the dead of night. I etched it into my brain now, though—his pale skin, pale lips, the dark circles around his deep-set, handsome eyes. A perfect, slightly pointed nose, and prominent cheekbones that cast shadows from their gauntness. A sharp, odd sort of jaw. He wasn't the type of attractive that would fit a model, but rather the sort that would be memorable in a movie or stage play. His hair, that I once thought to be a deep black, wasn't truly as I had originally believed—it was actually more a dark chocolate brown, but his eyes still were still the color of crude oil, and just as slick. I couldn't stare into them for long before I saw the red that only I seemed able to see.

And what they were supposedly able to see truly frightened me as well. How could someone ready death dates, the same way one would check the departure date of an airplane or the time on from a watch? It wasn't realistic. It didn't make any sense. How could I have let him fool me into believing that? I was such a sucker if I did.

Our food came after fifteen minutes of silence, and while I wolfed down my own in huge bites, he barely touched his dish, although he ravaged the French onion soup, in large bites, never once taking his eyes off of me.

When they took away the food, I expected us to leave right away, but instead he ordered coffee for the both of us. When that arrived, I drained it with milk and sugar, for I didn't much care for the taste. Beyond added spoonful after spoonful of sugar, but did not drink it, to my surprise. He let it sit and grow cold.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked, when the coffee first arrived. I was caught off guard—I hadn't expected small talk.

"Yes," I stated, not untruthfully. I thought about how we fell asleep together the night before and was struck with a simultaneous shudder and zap of electricity, that hadn't become too unfamiliar to me over the past week or so. I shifted uncomfortably.

He smiled. "We'll be traveling for a while. I figure when we reach our destination, you'll be in luxury once more."

I had no idea what he was talking about. But we were in public—he couldn't do anything to hurt me, without causing a scene—so I took my chance, with much care.

"Where… where are we going, exactly?"

To my surprise, he didn't seem angry when I asked. I guessed he was avoiding it altogether in order to avoid drawing attention to us, or maybe he meant all along to tell me now.

"Los Angeles."

I was confused. "Los Angeles…? Then why are we heading north?"

"If you remember a certain incident in Chicago, then you'll know why." Momentarily, for just a brief moment on his face, I saw fear. Then it was gone. "So we're taking the more… scenic route."

I shifted again, and took a sip of my coffee. "Why are we going to Los Angeles?"

That wolfish grin came back and I swallowed in fear. "A challenge. A game. An… experiment."

"Why am I here?" I had asked it before, but now my voice pleased for an answer. HE leaned across and grabbed my hand, holding it—to anyone else, it would look like we were simply sharing a moment together.

"Because it wouldn't be complete without you," he whispered. His hand tightened and my breath quickened. The Beast that had disappeared the night before had now returned.

He let go of my hand and leaned back. To himself, it seemed, he said, "It'll take about a week and a half to the take the necessary track to California. I expect we'll arrive there by January 10th.

I stared down at my coffee, a creamy brown, and took a deep breath. I thought of the plans I had developed in the tub the previous day. It took a moment to gather my courage, but then I strongly, more confidently, looked up and set back my shoulders, facing him square-on. He copied my movements, unconsciously. It was like we were preparing for battle.

"I need some things," I said, in as unwavering a voice as I could manage. "I—I would like a notebook."

His face didn't change. "A notebook."

"Yes," I said, my courage leaving me, just a little. "A notebook. To write with. I—I need to keep myself busy."

He stared at me, curiously rather than suspiciously, and then his lips turned up, menacingly. "Okay."

I was surprised. Taken aback. I blinked, looking at him, when I realized he wasn't kidding. I resumed my confident manner.

"And… some books." He tilted his head forward, and I hastily added, "Please. I… I can't keep staring at the ceiling to make the days pass faster.

"Or you'll go insane?" He whispered. I bit my lip. I had to resist telling him that I already felt rather insane. A few moments passed and then the waiter arrived with the bill.

"Anything else?" the man asked, staring at my milky coffee and Beyond's sugary slush uncertainly.

Beyond waved his arm in order to send him away. "No."

"Have a nice day," he said, shooting me an almost apologetic look, as if to say, "Sorry about your asshole of a husband."

Beyond stood up and led me back to the car. I was beginning to feel a bit triumphant, as I realized I'd truly gotten what I'd wanted. Both the books and the notebook were imperative to my plan. I was wondering when we'd be stopping to buy them when we reached the car, still parked in the cul-de-sac. But before as I came up to the passenger seat, I was suddenly pushed violently against the side so hard the wind rushed out of me and I struggled to breath. Beyond leaned in.

"You're under my control," he said, as I gasped, trying to gain air again. "I am stronger, and faster, and smarter than you. Don't you ever dare forget that."

I had just started to breath again when he kissed me, and my hatred bubbled throughout me. I bit back tears as I got into the car with him, and we started our journey west, to Los Angeles.


End file.
